


Little Pink Bag

by patchfire, raving_liberal



Series: Story of Three Boys [36]
Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Brothership, Gen, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-19
Updated: 2011-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-27 13:37:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 34,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/296423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patchfire/pseuds/patchfire, https://archiveofourown.org/users/raving_liberal/pseuds/raving_liberal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Secrets revealed, Bad Romance dance, automobiles, and psychiatry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Teaser

Will breaks off mid-sentence as the final bell rings. "¡Nos vemos el lunes!" he calls, glad for his own sake that the Spanish I class has no homework over the weekend. A few of the more motivated students call “Adios!” over their shoulders, but most of them bolt for the door. Will can’t really blame them.

He takes out the last granola bar in his drawer—Emma will send him with another stash of ten on Monday morning—and slowly unwraps it while he takes care of the end of the week paperwork. The day’s attendance reports are emailed to the office, he replies to enquiries from two teachers, and reassures Emma that yes, he’ll start thinking about the juniors’ college recommendation letters since it’s near the beginning of the grading period.

When he finishes the granola bar and his emails, he slides the tests from third period into his bag and starts to walk out. It’s funny that someone’s playing “Tubthumping”; he hadn’t heard the song in years, and then yesterday the kids performed it. Now he can hear the faint strains of it wafting down the hall. Maybe Sue’s already trying to steal it.

Will steps into the hallway and locks his classroom door, then heads towards the choir room to do the same there. Halfway there, he hears “Waiting On the World To Change,” and that is too big of a coincidence for Will to handle. He hurriedly locks up the sheet music and the rest of the glee club’s things, then follows the sound of the music to… the auditorium.

The door opens silently, and the seats are dark, letting Will hide in the shadows. It’s no coincidence, it seems; it’s the glee club, rehearsing, and as he watches, the song ends, a bridge plays, and they assume their starting positions for a third song, one he’s heard in passing on the radio. Something about marching, and a lot of right, right, right left right.

The performance he’s watching—and it’s close to being a performance, not just a rehearsal—is no first run–through. There’s no fumbling in their steps, no break in the singing. He presses his lips together, confused.

“Great job!” Finn announces as the music stops, and most of them seem to look to him. Kurt is pointedly _not_ looking at anyone except Puck, and occasionally Finn, and Will’s not stupid. He’s heard the rumors all week, and it’s pretty easy to guess that Kurt’s fed up with them, and that Puck’s the only one not bugging him about it. “I think we ought to go over ‘Tubthumping’ again, I know I still have a little trouble with that one changeover sequence!” Finn shoots Mike a grin, and Mike returns it with a thumbs up.

“Just wait until Nationals, I’ll kick it up!” Mike threatens playfully, and Finn groans a little. Rachel does some kind of dance sequence that does, in fact, look well–choreographed, and Mike beams at her. Finn looks almost defeated.

“Already, Rach?”

“Can we leave after that?” Puck interjects, and Will can’t quite see his face. “Some of us have things to do before dinnertime.”

Will doesn’t hear the answer, just slips out to continue his journey towards the parking lot. He’s not sure exactly what he’s observed, but he knows he has a lot to think about.

 

“‘Lo,” Rina mumbles into the phone, clearly more than a little bit asleep.

“Rina, hi, this is Burt Hummel,” Burt says, clearing his throat a little. “Sorry to call you so late and wake you up.”

“Oh, hi.” Rina snuffles and there’s some rustling. “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine, it’s just, Puck and Kurt sacked out when they got home, and when I tried to wake Puck up, he just mumbled something about a boat,” Burt explains. “I couldn’t make him drive home half asleep. Didn’t feel right.”

“Drive?” Rina repeats, mumbling, then continues, voice louder. “Oh, okay. Yeah. He talks in his sleep a lot.”

“So, is it okay with you if I just leave them sleeping and send him on his way in the morning, then?” Burt asks, though at this point, he’s not sure he’s going to get a particularly coherent answer out of Rina.

“That’s fine,” Rina agrees, and there’s another rustling noise, like maybe she’d managed to sit up but now is lying down again.

“Okay, well, I’ll let you get back to sleep. Didn’t want you worrying about him or anything.”

“Mm, thanks, Burt. Tell Carole hi.”

“When she wakes up, sure. Night, Rina,” Burt finishes, then hangs up the phone. Apparently all the Puckermans are sleep talkers and Burt hopes Rina actually remembers this conversation in the morning. He might call her and check in tomorrow, just to be sure.


	2. Bad Bromance (a 3x19 bonus fic)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave, Casey, Miles Brown, and Rick enrich New Directions' coffers by $60.

Miles grins at himself in the mirror. He heard some of the juniors and seniors talking about how the Bad Romance Dance sounded lame, but Miles thinks that even if it’s a little cheesy, it’s better than another night at the movies or the arcade. Plus, he’s not taking a date, but he’s going with three other guys, so surely it’ll be at least a little fun. He grins to himself. Four guys, and poor Rickenbacker the only straight one in the bunch. They’ll have to have a little fun at Rick’s expense.

It’s too bad he misjudged Puckerman; beginning of the year, he thought maybe there was a chance, but it’s February now, and Puckerman hasn’t shown the slightest bit of interest in Miles, not even after a couple of hints. Can’t win ‘em all, Miles figured, and at least he didn’t get beat up for his trouble. Miles still isn’t sure what he himself is—bi? pan?—just that he’s not straight, which is still pretty self-aware, Miles figures.

“You’re going to the dance in that?”

“Yeah, Ma, it’s not a formal dance, remember?” Miles answers, shaking his head. “And it’s just me and some guys from the team, no dates.”

“I know, I know.” Miles’ Ma shakes her head, smiling. “Have fun, Miles. You driving anybody else?”

“Yeah, I’m going to pick up Rick, his birthday’s not until May and he’s a sophomore.”

“Okay. Text me that you got there safe, and be home by curfew.”

“ _Yes_ , Ma.”

“Humor your mother.”

“I do!”

Miles laughs as he climbs into his car and cranks up the heat and the volume on the radio. Rick doesn’t live far away, either, both of them living off Elm, and it doesn’t take long before he drives up in front of Rick’s house. “Ready to rock this thing, Foots?”

“Ready as I think I’m ever gonna be,” Rick says. “You _sure_ this isn’t too weird?”

“Not too weird for me, but you’re our token straight dude, so,” Miles grins.

“Do you think people are gonna think we’re boyfriends or something?” Rick asks. “I mean, nothing wrong with boyfriends, I’m sure you’re a handsome guy and all of that, but I don’t wanna scare off the women.”

“Considering none of us are out, dude, they’re just going to think we’re a group of four losers.”

“Oh, yeah, I forget about that,” Rick says, shaking his head. “Naw, I think the weird part is that PFLAG has turned into my normal.”

Miles laughs. “Yeah, I forget how it is outside of PFLAG sometimes.” He pauses and grins. “So you think Karofsky and little Casey are dating?”

“Are you kidding me? Totally they are.”

“I know, right? Why won’t they tell us? But hey, if they want us to help cover for ‘em.” Miles shrugs.

“Well, Karofsky seems kind of private, so maybe that’s it.” Rick says, returning Miles’s shrug. “Still, if they’re trying to keep it a secret, they’re doing a kinda sucky job of it. I see them together all over the dang place.”

“Yeah, that’s true.” Miles shakes his head. “Well, I guess most people don’t know what we know, or something.” He pulls into the parking lot and heads for his favorite spot. “Speak of the devils.”

 

Casey hasn’t been to a dance since 7th grade, the Lima North Middle Christmas dance. He only danced one dance, and it was with Sara Dorney, who had sweaty hands and cried when he stepped on her foot. It’s not Casey’s fondest memory and this dance is already a thousand times better, by virtue of having been picked up by David, who looks dashing in a red button-up. Actually dashing, like a Disney prince, no joke!

Miles and Rick look very nice, too, all dressed up–ish, but Casey decided to kind of secretly pretend they aren’t all there together, because then he can just imagine he’s at the dance with David. It’s silly, but it’s not like Casey goes to a lot of dances, so he may as well have the full ridiculous Cinderella experience. And yes, Casey acknowledges that this might be the most stereotypically gay thought he’s ever had in his life. He’s just going to go with it.

“Sup!” Miles greets them with a grin.

“Hi!” Casey says. “You guys look nice!”

“Uh, thanks, you too,” Rick answers, looking a little askance.

“I haven’t been to a dance in pretty much forever,” Casey explains. “I think it’s going to be a lot of fun, and the music will be _great_ , I bet, because the glee club is doing it!”

“As long as they don’t reprise ‘Push It,’” Miles says with a grin. “Freshman year, man! I thought Coach Sylvester was going to have a heart attack. Pity.”

David laughs. “That was great. The six of them up there, giving it their all. I thought Jewfro was going to cream his panties.”

Casey giggles and feels his cheeks heat up. “Was it awful?” he asks.

“The performance? Nah. Jewfro? Always!”

“Uh, they aren’t gonna do anything like that tonight, you don’t think?” Rick looks decidedly uncomfortable. “I don’t think that’s something I need to witness.”

“You don’t want to see Hudson and Berry grinding?” David asks. “Yeah, me either. So hopefully not.”

“Oh, lord, see? Now I feel ill!” Rick makes a disgusted face. “Are we going in or what?”

“Yes!” Casey says, bouncing up and down a little. “Let’s do that!”

David opens the door for all of them, and Mike waves from behind a card table that’s covered in some kind of huge bows attached to swoops of fabric. “Those are really big bows!” Casey says to Mike.

Mike laughs. “Yeah, not sure whose idea that was! Don’t worry, there’s Chantilly lace and bubbles inside.” He tilts his head. “And my girlfriend singing, right now.”

“Cool! See you later, Mike!” Casey waves.

“Later,” Miles nods at Mike, David and Rick repeating the action as they proceed into the gym.

Mike wasn’t kidding about the lace and the bubbles. There’s lace _everywhere_ , all over the windows and hanging from the walls, and more of it bunched up into those giant bows across the backs of groupings of chairs. With all the plastic bubbles hanging from the ceiling, the effect is kind of like being inside a giant cup of Code Red Mountain Dew.

“Wow!” Rick says, with a whistle. “Will you look at that. That is a _lot_ of red cloth and bubbles, right there.”

“I didn’t know there was this much red lace in Ohio,” David offers. “Did any of you?”

Casey laughs and shakes his head. “I didn’t know there was that much red lace in the _world_ , but I haven’t ever really given it much thought until now!”

“Wait a minute,” Rick says, turning towards the stage where Tina is belting her heart out. “Is she singing what I think she’s singing?”

“If you think she’s singing ‘I Kissed A Girl’, then yeah,” Miles answers him, grinning.

Rick elbows Miles in the side. “Dammit, Brown! I thought you told me this wasn’t a gay dance. Now I feel like I’m your date!”

“Don’t flatter yourself!” Miles jibes back immediately, laughing. Casey and David laugh, too, and Tina’s song ends, Sam and Mercedes taking her place and starting ‘It Takes Two’.

“See, Rick? Perfectly heterosexual music.” David grins. “So why don’t you dance with me?”

“What? No way, man!”

David sighs and turns to Miles. “What about you, Brown?”

“Hell, why not?” Miles laughs. “That means I don’t have to let you step on my toes the rest of the night, right?”

Casey starts giggling and doesn’t stop for pretty much the entire time Miles and David do whatever kind of dance it is that it’s supposed to be. ‘Funny’ isn’t technically a dance style, but it fits. David really hams it up, keeping this incredibly serious face the whole time, and Miles has an expression on his face like he’s the best dancer the world has ever seen, and everyone needs to bow down before him. When the song is over, Casey claps, because that was super entertaining!

Finn and Rachel replace Sam and Mercedes on stage, and launch into ‘Jackson’. Miles grabs Casey’s hands and pulls him out into the dance space, grinning widely and giving Rick and Dave a wave over his shoulder. Casey squeals and laughs, but lets Miles drag him along. Miles’s dance stylings are even funnier closer up, and Casey spends half the song doubled over, gasping, and the other half awkwardly trying to figure out what he’s supposed to do with his hands when he’s dancing with somebody.

As the song is ending, Miles steers Casey back towards David, pushing them together and then giving them a little shove out onto the dance floor. Casey blushes, hard, and glances away. He see Miles grabbing a protesting Rick by the wrist and hauling him onto the dance floor, and then he totally stops paying any attention at all to Miles or Rick or the music or the fact that they’re in the gymnasium of McKinley, because he’s in extremely close proximity to David, David actually has Casey in some kind of dance position, with one hand on Casey’s back and the other engulfing Casey’s hand.

Casey lets himself be danced around in a little circle, and as much as he wants to look up and watch David while they dance, he knows he’s grinning and blushing and giggling too stupidly to not embarrass the both of them.

 

Rick’s having a surprisingly good time, even if he is the ‘token straight guy’ like Brown puts it. Rick’d never admit it out loud or anything, but Brown’s actually a pretty good dancer. Not good enough that Rick’s planning on changing teams or anything, but he didn’t feel like an utter dumbass out there. Nobody stared at them or made comments, except that one couple who went “hey!” when Brown kind of flung Rick in their direction.

Brown turns out to be the perfect guy to go to a dance with, friends–wise, because he’ll talk to just about anybody, and before Rick knows it, he and Brown both have a freshman girl in their arms dancing, with a gaggle of their girlfriends waiting for their turn. Brown spins his partner around and Rick rolls his eyes at him, but when Evans starts singing ‘She Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy’, it’s possible that Rick might spin the girl he’s dancing with around a few times, too.

Casey and Karofsky seem to have disappeared from the dance floor, but Rick notices them over in a pair of chairs, Casey still giggling up a storm and both of them looking like big idiots who aren’t really fooling anybody. Rick shakes his head and the blonde he’s dancing with looks confused for a minute, but then ‘Bad Romance’ starts playing and Rick is swamped by the girl’s friends.

Brown, Rick, and a half a dozen freshmen girls all sort of mash up together into a mass of sorta–dancing, while Kurt and those glee girls sing and do some crazy crawl across the stage. It’s dang entertaining, when it’s all said and done, and Rick’s pretty sure he’s going home with some phone numbers. Brown’s like the best wingman ever, though he notices that Brown pockets a couple of numbers, too.

 

The Gleerios—and Dave’s pretty sure no one calls them that but him, but if the guys were Glocks, those three are totally Gleerios—end the dance with a song that seems to be entitled, appropriately enough, ‘Last Dance’. Casey seems to have just as much energy as he did when they arrived, which frankly amazes Dave, because he’s ready for a shower and bed.

Brown and Rick make their way back over towards where Dave and Casey are sitting, Rick giving a high five to Brown. “Good times?” Brown asks.

Casey nods enthusiastically. “We danced and I ate five brownies!”

That explains the energy, Dave can’t help but think, especially when combined with the “punch” that Dave is pretty sure was just tropical punch flavored Kool-Aid mixed with club soda instead of tap water.

“I think they’re kicking us out,” Dave says good-naturedly, watching Hudson literally herding people towards the door, flailing his arms a little.

“Oh, that’s too bad!” Casey chirps. “This was _so_ fun! They should have dances _all the time_!” He’s practically vibrating where he sits.

“They probably have to clean up,” Brown comments, and with that Dave stands up, fighting the urge to pull Casey’s chair out for him or something. They manage to exit the gym ahead of Hudson and his sheepdog imitation, and the four of them stand outside on the sidewalk for a few minutes, talking quietly, before Brown and Rick head to Brown’s car, and Dave and Casey continue towards Dave’s truck.

“Five brownies, Case?” Dave teases him. “Really?”

Casey laughs. “No, not really.” He gives Dave a sly look. “ _Six_.”

Dave guffaws. “Chocolate–powered Casey.” He unlocks the truck and swings into his seat as Casey climbs in carefully.

“I also might have a sugar cookie in my pocket,” Casey giggles. “Oh! That sounds like it means something else. Other than what it means. I don’t even know what!” He laughs again and puts his hands up to his face.

“I don’t know either,” Dave laughs, starting the truck and pulling out of the lot. “But it does a little bit, yeah.” He shakes his head. “You’d think they’d all get tired of singing so much.”

“I guess they really enjoy it, though some of those songs were. Well, they were interesting choices!” Casey goes into another fit of laughter. “I don’t think Tina has really kissed a girl, though. And the tractor one, what was _that_!”

Dave shakes his head. “I bet Tina has.”

“Bet you my sugar cookie that she hasn’t.” Casey laughs again. “See? _Still_ sounds kind of dirty!”

“It does!” Dave agrees. “Maybe you should go for chocolate chip next time.”

“But sugar cookies have the _sugar_ on them! They’re the sweetest!”

“You are my candy girl?” Dave quotes, laughing.

“Yes. Except for the girl part,” Casey says, nodding. “See, I don’t know what _that_ means, either!”

“Old song, my dad loves it,” Dave explains, pulling up in front of Casey’s house but leaving the engine on. “It’s called ‘Sugar Sugar’.”

“Oh, okay,” Casey says. “I think I might know that one.” He looks out the window at his house, looks back at Dave, and for some reason starts giggling again, and even in the dim interior lights of the truck, Dave can see that Casey’s cheeks are bright pink. “Um, so.”

“Yeah, I guess I should get home,” Dave nods. “I mean, I know it’s late.” He doesn’t make any move to unlock the doors, though, and Dave drums his fingers on the steering wheel almost unconsciously.

“Yes. I mean, yes, it is late,” Casey says, also nodding. ‘I really do, by the way.”

“Really do?” Dave repeats.

“Have a sugar cookie. In my pocket.”

Dave laughs. “Don’t change, Case.”

“You want to share? It’s probably really good!”

“Nah, you can have it. Eat it in bed; best place for stolen food.”

“Just, it’d taste better if we shared, is all,” Casey says, with an almost too casual shrug. “The cookie, I mean.”

“I’m all sugared out, I’m afraid,” Dave answers, both truthfully and because he’s not going to take food away from Casey, no matter how Casey came about it. “I need something salty now.” He sighs. “See you Monday?”

“Ok!” Casey squeaks, his cheeks gone past pink to strawberry. “Um. I’ll see you on Monday.”

Dave jumps when Casey tries to get out and the door is still locked, and he flips the auto lock, shaking his head. “Sorry,” he mutters, and bites the inside of his cheek. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“I thought I’d be trapped in here forever,” Casey laughs. “It would have been _terrible!_ Then you’d _have_ to have some sugar cookie.”

Dave laughs. “Yeah, I guess so. ‘Night, Case.”

“Goodnight, David,” Casey says, climbing out of the truck. “Bye!” He gives Dave a wave, almost shy, before he half–skips towards his front door.


	3. Episode 3x19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [playlist for this episode](http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL6D6BE227DAFCCF11)

“Monday morning.” Kurt’s voice is detached and a little clinical. “Monday is garbage day. So I was collecting the trash.” He purses his lips. “People shouldn’t discard things in the trash that they’re trying to keep a secret, you know?”

Finn cocks his head and stares at Kurt with that dumb–puppy look on his face, like he’s trying hard to make sense of Kurt’s words. “Uh, no?”

“I was emptying the bathroom trash, and.” Kurt stops and Puck squeezes his hand. He gets it, sort of, and Kurt’s trying really hard, which should count for something, right? “Just, god, we’re so stupid, Finn, that we didn’t see it, with the Mexican food and then all the banana bread, and the napping, but I mean, who thinks about it?”

“S’okay, blue eyes,” Puck says softly, and Kurt leans against him. “Calm down.”

“Yeah.” Kurt looks at him and smiles, a little shakily but still a smile. “Okay. So. What I found was um, a used… a used pregnancy test.”

“A… wait, a what?” Finn’s mouth drops open and he continues to stare at Kurt like he’s confused. “Who would take a pregnancy test at _our_ house and _oh my fucking god it’s my mom isn’t it_?” Finn claps his hand over his still–gaping mouth and his eyes widen so much that the whites show all the way around.

“It was in Dad and Carole’s bathroom, so… yes.”

Finn shakes his head and takes his hand off his mouth. “But… _how_? They’re _old_ , Kurt!”

Puck laughs, because really, these two? Should be genetically related, the way they react to things so similarly. “Dude, your mom just turned forty. That’s not too old for a baby. Obviously.”

“Have you _talked_ to them?” Finn asks. “Do they know if everything’s ok? Oh my _god_ , Kurt!” Finn does some sort of excited flapping thing with his hands. “We’re gonna be big brothers! Well, me for the first time and you twice! This is so awesome!”

“No!” Kurt answers quickly. “Of course I haven’t! Obviously they don’t want us to know for some reason. I guess she’s just, I don’t know, barely pregnant?” Kurt throws his hands up in the air, and Puck tries not to smile. For an only child who knew he was gay from a young age, Kurt’s managed to collect an assortment of younger siblings and other children.

“Why didn’t you _tell_ me, dude?” Finn sounds a little betrayed. “I mean, I thought you were _dying_ or something. We _researched_. Do you know how gross websites about sick people are? Really gross!”

“Yes, you researched many things.” Kurt waves his hand dismissively. “I needed _time_ , okay?” Kurt stares at Finn for a moment, his eyes boring into him, willing him to either understand or drop it, in Puck’s opinion. Or maybe just to understand, but Puck thinks Finn should drop it if he _doesn’t_ understand.

Finn, in a rare shining moment of brilliance, seems to get that something’s not sitting quite right with Kurt. “I was worried, man,” he says, with a shrug. “I know you think I’m ridiculous, but I was really worried. I mean, this baby thing is weird, right, but it’s not you dying from a brain tumor or getting a robot heart or something.”

“The theories that you can come up with,” Kurt shakes his head. “I suppose it’s just lucky that this year I wasn’t dying _and_ cheating on my boyfriend with a homeless friend.”

“Hey, it looked suspicious, ok?” Finn defends, but only half-heartedly. “You’re a suspicious dude sometimes, with your motel meetups and your _oranges_.”

“Just out of curiosity,” Puck asks slowly, “did you happen to notice what _I_ was eating yesterday when you interrogated me?”

“Yeah, an orange, so?”

“So, perhaps I wasn’t trying to overdose on vitamin C–which isn’t possible, really, and definitely not with just two oranges–but, you know.” Kurt stops and shakes his head. “Eating a piece of fruit is suspicious if it’s me, but not if it’s Puck?”

“Uh,” Finn has to pause to think about it. “Well, I guess not. It just seemed suspicious in, uh… context?” He seems pleased with himself for using that term.

“You’ll call off the troops when you get back to school?” Kurt asks, sighing a little. “And I think we shouldn’t tell anyone else for now. Especially since Dad and Carole haven’t actually told _us_.”

“Yeah, I’ll tell everyone you’re not dying,” Finn agrees, “but why do you think they haven’t told us? Why don’t they want us to know? Do you think something’s, like, _wrong_ with the baby?”

“The baby is tiny right now,” Kurt points out. “Teeny–tiny. I bet they’re waiting because of the chance of miscarriage or something, right? Or they think it’d stress us out before Regionals. I don’t know.”

“Wait, is the risk of miscarriage _high_?” Finn’s face twists up into worried confusion, or possibly confused worry. “And, how tiny are we talking? Apple–sized? Mouse–sized?”

“More like…” Puck looks around the room and sees a bag of Butter Snaps. “Pretzel.” He points to the bag, then shrugs. “Hey, that sounds good.” He picks up the bag and pulls a few out, then offers the bag to Kurt, who takes a couple, and then Finn, who looks horrified.

“I can’t eat those! It’s like… eating the baby!” Finn makes a face. “I’ll never be able to eat those again now, dude, thanks. I’ll keep thinking about the baby and how it’s just a tiny little pretzel and then I’ll be all, no thanks, I can’t eat that. Ever.”

“Sorry, man,” Puck says, though he’s not really all that apologetic. “But seriously, tiny.”

“Pretzel–sized.” Kurt giggles a little. Yeah, it had taken a reminder of pint–sized designer clothes, with the additional information that Carole would have plenty of room to store them, to finally tip Kurt over onto the happy side, but he would’ve made it eventually. Puck just helped him get there faster.

“Wow, dude,” Finn says, shaking his head. “Our parents are having a pretzel. Oh, hey, this will totally make us blood brothers!” He grins at Kurt. “Didn’t even have to use a pin.”

“I fail to ascertain the basis of your assertion,” Kurt says, shaking his head. “But, all right.” He narrows his eyes. “You still should be thoroughly tested.”

“I am _not_ talking about that swab thing with you again,” Finn says. “No way.”

Puck shudders. “That thing is not fun.”

“Not talking about. Ever again.”

“Fact of life,” Puck points out. “Just have to do it, don’t have to talk about it.”

“So, pretzel–sized baby, you say?” Finn says, turning to Kurt and ignoring Puck.

“Pretzel,” Kurt nods.

“I hope it gets your hair.”

“Especially if it’s a girl–Pretzel,” Puck can’t resist pointing out.

“I hope it’s a girl–Pretzel!” Finn says. “I already have a brother.”

Puck lets his face fall and he sniffs. “I thought you had two.”

“One brother and one almost brother,” Finn says, rolling his eyes. “Geez, you guys aren’t even married yet.”

“We currently live in Ohio.”

“You’re also in high school,” Finn points out. “Anyway, maybe I can call you my, I dunno, half brother or something. Does that make it weird for you to be with Kurt?”

“If we were concerned about _weird_ , well.” Kurt shakes his head. “I think we’re well–past the realm of weird.”

“Pretzel,” Finn randomly snickers.

“And they’re going to think we’re even weirder.”

“If anybody asks about your mystery illness, I’ll just tell them you were exposed to Pretzel–itis,” Finn laughs.

“Tell them he had morning sickness. See how long it takes for them to realize that, hello, not possible.”

“Twenty bucks more people try to figure out the ’father’ than protest it’s not possible.”

“Twenty bucks?” Puck raises his eyebrow and smirks. “Or…?”

Kurt grins. “Or.”

“For twenty bucks, I can start the rumor that it’s Zachary Quinto,” Finn suggests. “I think they’d buy it. I mean, we kind of have watched that movie a few times.”

“It’s not my fault they played up the homoerotic subtext,” Kurt sniffs.

“Kirk and Spock totally doin’ it,” Puck agrees.

“You think so?” Finn asks. “I was picking that vibe up way more from, like, Kirk and Bones.”

Kurt and Puck just stare at him, and Puck’s trying really hard not to laugh. Or hit Finn in the head. Or both, at the same time. “I think,” Kurt says with a dramatic sigh. “It’s time to return Finn to the welcoming bosom of McKinley.”

“I do like bosoms,” Finn sighs, “but not so much when they’re a school.”

“We know you do,” Puck and Kurt chorus together, standing and depositing all the dishes in the dishwasher or refrigerator.

“Water,” Kurt reminds Puck, and Puck grabs that, plus the bag of Butter Snaps. Finn totally won’t try to steal them now, either, so that’s even more awesome. Kurt swings by the school to drop Finn off, and Finn walks back in looking a little poleaxed, but that’s not too far from normal, Puck figures.

Mike looks at Puck a little suspiciously as they wait for their professor. “You guys kidnapped Finn?”

“We were telling him about Kurt’s dread disease,” Puck deadpans. “It’s actually morning sickness.”

Mike bursts out laughing. “Oh, that’s great. Seriously, I didn’t really notice anything wrong, but—?”

“He’s _fine_ ,” Puck answers. “Finn’s brain just put two and two and two together and got sixty-four.”

“Yeah, I can understand that,” Mike nods. “By the way, I forgot to mention it before — _awesome_ song you two wrote.”

Puck grins. “Thanks.”

The piano professor informs Puck that he’s “very pleased” with Puck’s rapid progress, and that he anticipates Puck having no trouble with demonstrating proficiency. Puck still plans to take his acoustic along. Just in case.

When he gets to the Nav, though, he remembers that they don’t have the rest of the afternoon free, that they have rehearsal and then he and Kurt were going to go for a run and _then_ dinner (at which all three of them have to pretend they don’t know about the pretzel). Somewhere in there, they’re going to meet a guy about a car, and Puck has to go because he has to drive the Nav and follow Kurt back to Burt’s shop, if Kurt decides to get it. After _that_ they’re finally free. Puck crunches on one of the pretzels and absently wishes he’d brought more cheese with them, because he likes a slice of cheese with his Butter Snaps. Maybe they can manage another night at the Days Inn by the next weekend, especially since it’s a four–day weekend.

Kurt’s class lets out late, but it’s not a huge deal because Mike and Tina are in it, too, and Finn’s not going to bitch at all four of them over a dumbass psych professor. And, in fact, when they get back to McKinley, they’re still not even late, the four of them changed and ready before everyone else wanders in.

“Hey guys,” Finn calls out as he enters the auditorium. “Thanks again for lunch. It was _awesome_ and I’m not even hungry again yet! I mean, the surprise mushrooms were kinda weird, but still. Awesome.”

“Mushrooms on grilled cheese tastes quite good,” Kurt agrees, raising an eyebrow, and Tina just looks at the three of them oddly.

“Where’d you find a restaurant that puts mushrooms on their grilled cheese? And what kind of cheese? American cheese and mushrooms don’t really work.”

“It wasn’t a restaurant,” Finn says, looking at Tina like she’s crazy. “It was Puck’s kitchen.”

“Ooh, how much do you charge? And what kind of mushrooms?”

Puck laughs. “Sorry, not opening a restaurant, I’ll leave that for Hannah in a few more years. And they were, uh. Oyster.”

The rest of them wander in, some of them looking cheery (like Rachel) and the others still looking at Kurt like he’s a walking time bomb.

Finn stands up in front of the group and announces, “First of all, I’d like to say that Kurt is _not_ dying. He’s actually pregnant with Zachary Quinto’s love child. Please reserve all questions for the end of the talk.”

“Who’s Zachary Quinto?” Mercedes asks.

“Spock!” Sam sounds personally offended by her question.

“Sylar!” Artie says. “Don’t you ever watch tv?”

“I watch tv!” Mercedes protests. “I watch comedies and Criminal Minds.”

“Yeah, that’s great Mercedes, but we’re gonna get back to rehearsal now,” Finn says.

“We should start rehearsing in our shoes next week,” Rachel suggests with a frown.

“I think that’s a good idea, Rach. Everybody, bring your shoes next week. Santana, you bring Brittany’s, ok?” Santana nods. “Ok, that’s great. Let’s do a full run–through!”

When they finish the run–through, they all look at Finn, who announces “Great job! I think we ought to go over ’Tubthumping’ again, I know I still have a little trouble with that one changeover sequence!” Finn shoots Mike a grin, and Mike returns it with a thumbs up.

“Just wait until Nationals, I’ll kick it up!” Mike threatens playfully, and Finn groans a little. Rachel does some kind of dance sequence, and Mike beams at her. Finn looks almost defeated.

“Already, Rach?”

“Can we leave after that? Some of us have things to do before dinnertime,” Puck interjects, because there’s the run and the car and all that other shit.

“Yeah, yeah,” Finn says, dismissively. “I think you guys have already had a pretty exciting week, right?”

“Have to see a man about a car,” Kurt says without looking up.

“If you need to stop for a pee break now, that’s ok,” Finn says. “No, wait. That’s seeing a man about a horse.”

“Seriously,” Kurt looks up and raises an eyebrow. “I have to meet a guy over past OSU about a car, in about 30 minutes.”

“Oh! Ok, yeah, we’ll just zip through this quickly,” Finn says. “Let me know how that goes. We’ll start talking to people about, you know, taking care of stuff.”

Most of the rest of them just stare at the brothers, probably wondering if Kurt needs a second vehicle for his Quinto love child, until Finn gestures for Artie to start the music again, and they go through what is going to be their opening number – and the most complex, choreographically.

Luckily, Finn seems pleased after just one additional run–through, and Kurt and Puck hurry to meet up with a guy who’s apparently actually from Kenton but was willing to meet them at Allen East, which is still a ways out of Harding.

“It’s an ’85,” Kurt says with a slight frown as they head towards the arranged meeting place. “I’d like something a little newer, but it’ll do, and supposedly the brakes are nearly shot but the engine block is good, and there’s not too much rust. As long as the interior looks good – that’s about the only thing I can’t really salvage.”

Puck nods, because that’s what he does when Kurt starts talking about cars – and that’s what Kurt does when he starts talking about football. It works. “Okay. What’s he asking?”

“One seventy-five.” Kurt rolls his eyes. “I checked Edmunds and the Blue Book both, it’s not worth more than one twenty-five at _best_. We should be able to get it for one hundred, if he’s smart.”

“Cool.”

 

The man that they’re meeting takes a look at the two of them before he starts talking. “She’s not much to look at,” he acknowledges, his head tilted a little towards Kurt, “but she’s not rusty, at least.” Then he swings his gaze back at Puck. “It’s got the 2.8 liter V-6, five–speed manual.”

Puck tries not to roll his eyes. He just laughs. “Yeah, you want to tell him all that stuff. I’ll just check out the interior.” Hey, it sounds good, and if Kurt can’t really do anything with it, then Puck’ll be able to tell if it looks bad.

It takes Puck about five minutes to determine that the interior actually seems pretty good for a car that’s twenty-five years old, as long as they clean it up a little. It takes Kurt about twenty minutes to examine everything under the hood, plus peer up underneath it, and then bombard the guy with question. Another ten minutes pass before he agrees to take one hundred for it, and they each pull fifty in cash out, Kurt signing the bill of sale and the title. “Thank you for your time,” he says politely, accepting the keys.

“Yeah, thank you,” the guy grunts, clearly impressed but also clearly not wanting to show it.

The ride back to Lima takes longer, since the Trans Am’s brakes really are about to give out, and by the time Kurt parks it behind Burt’s shop, Burt and Danny have closed up for the night, long gone. “Run after dinner, I guess,” Kurt concedes, and Puck just nods. Kurt climbs into the passenger seat with a sigh. “Thanks, baby.”

“Not a problem.”

“I’m putting you in charge of cleaning up the interior,” Kurt adds, grinning. “Also finding a clean copy of the manual online and taking it to be printed.”

“Yeah, okay,” Puck nods. “I suppose I could do that.” They reach the Hudmel house then, and head inside, where Burt, Finn, and Carole are all waiting at the table, somewhat impatiently. There’s a big pot of Carole’s ham and noodle casserole sitting in the middle of said table, with some roasted winter squash in a bowl next to it.

“Dudes, where _were_ you,” Finn demands. “It’s only _family_ dinner night if the whole family is here!”

“Car, remember?” Kurt says mildly. “We had to meet the guy all the way out at Allen East.”

“Oooh,” Finn exclaims. “Did that work out?”

“Got her for a hundred,” Kurt nods. “The brakes are awful, but the frame’s in good shape and the interior just needs cleaning. I think the engine just needs a good servicing, for the most part.”

“Awesome! When are we gonna start?” Finn looks pretty eager about the whole thing. “Can I start talking to everybody else about it now?”

“Yes, do. And maybe tomorrow?” Kurt looks over at Burt, who just looks proud as he nods his agreement. “Since we’ll lose at least the first two weekends in March.”

Finn nods excitedly, and Burt reminds Kurt to let him know if he needs a specific part, because some guy named Cat at some junk yard said he had a couple of scrapped Trans Ams that might have the parts, and Burt can pick them up for free.

By the time that they finish eating, help clean up, wait for a few minutes, and then actually go run, Puck’s starting to feel pretty exhausted. “Dammit.” He lies down face first on Kurt’s bed while Kurt gets ready to shower. No shared shower, either, because Burt’s there.

“What is it?”

“I need to use your piano.” Puck yawns against the duvet. “Practice. Whatever.”

“Take a nap while I’m in the shower,” Kurt suggests, and the idea’s appealing. They got up earlier than usual on a Friday and went to Waffle House, ditching the others at Starbucks, and then detoured into Schoonover Park’s parking lot, which. Better than nothing.

“Yeah, okay,” Puck mumbles, and he barely registers Kurt putting a blanket over him before he’s out.

 

Saturday morning is weird. No Dayton, because of the dance that night. Puck doesn’t really feel like going to services, either, though, and so when his mom announces that she and Hannah are going out to breakfast with Nana and then to the synagogue, Puck grabs his phone.

_Mom and Hannah gone. Come over?_

There’s no response for about five minutes, and Puck wonders if maybe Kurt’s still asleep.

_Leaving now. :) Start attacking the car this afternoon?_

_Sure. xx_

And there is a knock at the door within another ten minutes, Kurt already more or less dressed for working at the shop. “Hi.”

“Hey.” Puck grins, and Kurt steps into the apartment and wraps himself around Puck. “Morning.”

“ _Good_ morning,” Kurt corrects him, mumbling into Puck’s cheek. “God, it sounds stupid, but I wish the auditions would get here faster.”

Puck laughs. “Yeah. I know.” He slides his face to the side just enough to capture Kurt’s lips with his, and moves his tongue inside Kurt’s mouth when his jaw drops open. Kurt’s hands are on the back of Puck’s head, holding him in place, but Puck wasn’t really planning on going anywhere, anyway. Kurt’s tongue wraps around Puck’s, then presses into Puck’s mouth, and Puck lets his own mouth fall open, further deepening their kiss.

Kurt pulls back after a long time, lips bright red and a little swollen, and he grins. “I think,” he begins slowly, and as he speaks, his hands are already removing Puck’s shirt. “That I’m feeling impatient today.”

“Oh?” Puck moistens his lips and raises his arms for Kurt to slide his shirt completely off. “In what way?”

Kurt starts unbuttoning his shirt, then lets it fall to the floor. He presses his bare chest against Puck’s and Puck’s eyes close a little at the feel of Kurt’s breath on his ear. “I want you inside me right here, standing up.”

Puck exhales a little shakily. “You didn’t tell me I should greet you at the door with lube in hand,” he teases, and Kurt giggles.

“When in doubt, carry lube,” Kurt quips, and Puck grins, tightening his arms around Kurt and lowering his mouth to Kurt’s neck.

“An inevitable side effect of illness,” Puck offers, “is random bruising. I’m sure of it.”

Kurt’s hips jerk forward a little, and he must be feeling a little reckless, or maybe just like Puck – just tired, because all the hiding effort has still resulted in seven out of twelve of the glee club members knowing. “Do it,” he answers. “Higher.”

Puck obliges, fixing his mouth onto a spot that he knows Kurt can’t cover with a collar or a scarf. He bites down softly, then pulls the skin between his lips, careful to make it look just like a random bruise, even if it is a bit large. He breathes in, appreciating the smell of Kurt and the taste of his skin and the way he feels against him.

“Yours,” Kurt moans softly as Puck’s teeth scrape over the blossoming bruise, and Puck quickly shifts to press his lips against Kurt’s almost roughly, backing him against the door with a dull thud. Kurt turns his head to the side. “More.” Puck watches Kurt’s eyes flutter closed, and he nods, answering a question Puck hasn’t asked yet. “I need it, baby. Please.” He pulls one hand from where it’s been cupping the back of Puck’s head, and slides it into his pocket, pulling out a small bottle of lube. “Hard, Puck, hard and fast and…”

Puck kisses Kurt, shutting him up, and then pulls back, murmuring softly and shushing against Kurt’s neck. He can tell the moment that Kurt gives in, relaxes, and then Puck moves fast, removing his sweatpants and Kurt’s jeans, turning Kurt around, and pushing two lube–slicked fingers into Kurt in one motion. “Like that, blue eyes?”

"Yesss.” It’s almost more of a hiss than a proper response, Kurt’s cheek pressed against the door and his legs spread, almost on tip-toe. Part of Puck says he should take a moment to look at Kurt, fix the image in his mind, but the rest of him doesn’t want to take the time, and from the way Kurt’s pushing back onto his fingers, it doesn’t seem like Kurt wants him to take the time, either.

Puck works his fingers in and out slowly, dragging his mouth over Kurt’s pale shoulders. Kurt shudders a little beneath him, soft gasps and exclamations spilling from his lips. Puck pulls his fingers out and slowly coats his cock, nudging at Kurt’s entrance. “Ready, K?”

“Now, Puck,” Kurt almost whines, and Puck grins against Kurt’s back, slowly pushing inside. Kurt’s tight and hot around him; Puck has just enough brain power left to be glad he twitched the thermostat up before Kurt arrived, knowing they’d be more comfortable that way. Being in front of the door to the hallway, it’s doubly true. Kurt’s muscles tighten around Puck, a cascade squeezing down his length, and Puck exhales.

He wraps an arm around Kurt, serving the dual purpose of pulling Kurt’s back tight against Puck’s chest as well as letting Puck close his hand around Kurt’s cock. Kurt whimpers a little and Puck takes that, plus the rock of Kurt’s hips, as an invitation to move. He pulls out slowly and then pushes back inside equally slowly, even though the slow pace is torturing him just as much as it is Kurt. “Beautiful,” he murmurs against Kurt’s neck, nipping at the skin a little. Yeah, maybe it is juvenile or ninth grade or whatever, but he _does_ like seeing a dark spot against Kurt’s pale skin and knowing _he_ put it there, that no one else gets to touch Kurt or mark him.

And he hates that Kurt doesn’t get to feel that way in reverse, though maybe it doesn’t matter to Kurt in the same way. He’s never asked, because if he doesn’t, he can pretend that maybe it really doesn’t.

Kurt rocks his hips into Puck’s thrusts, body still splayed against the door, and Puck pumps his hand slowly up and down on Kurt’s cock, swiping the tip with his thumb and letting his fingertips drag against the skin. Puck sighs against Kurt, speeding his movements, and Kurt lets a little of his body weight fall onto Puck. “Come for me, blue eyes,” Puck whispers, and Kurt grunts, thrusting forward into Puck’s hand twice before he does with a low, loud moan.

Kurt’s body tightens around Puck’s cock, and the weight of Kurt’s body with the hot fluid spilling on Puck’s hand is enough for Puck to drive forward, hard, filling Kurt’s body as he clamps down on Kurt’s shoulder with his mouth. They slump awkwardly to the floor, Kurt curled across Puck’s chest, and Puck lifts his covered hand to his own lips, slowly licking it clean while Kurt watches. “Hungry?” he finally teases, voice soft.

“Mmm. Just a little snack,” Puck grins, tilting his head to push his tongue past Kurt’s lips. They shift position, lying on their sides facing each other, mouths fusing together. When they finally stand up, Kurt makes a face. “What is it?”

“I think I have carpet burn.”

Puck winces and then looks carefully at both of them. “Crap.” Yeah, they both have a little. “Okay, new plan: not on the carpeted floor.”

Kurt laughs. “Probably an excellent plan.” He drapes himself over Puck’s back. “So how bad is my unexplained bruising?”

“Oh, you’ll live,” Puck offers flippantly, chuckling. “Of course, not everyone’s going to believe you. Especially not the people who won’t admit you aren’t dying.”

“Pity.” Kurt sniffs. “Let them think what they want.”

“We usually do.”

 

Puck drops Kurt at the shop along with a huge cooler of food. Kurt just shrugs when Danny looks at it askance. Three teenage boys working on a car, they’ll need it, Kurt figures. And he might’ve thrown in some healthy options for his dad, too. His dad _has_ to stay healthy now, for Pretzel’s sake.

Kurt moves the Trans Am into the back bay, and circles it slowly, giving it a critical eye. Normally he’d say inside out, interior and exterior last, but it’s not like Finn or Puck can help re-shoe the brakes. They can at least change out the tires and clean up the interior and work on the bodywork, including putting on the new fender that his dad already got shipped over from the junkyard.

“Oh, hey!” Finn says, “Are we working on the Trans Am today? I’m so excited!”

“I assumed as much,” Kurt says dryly, “from the three texts you sent.” He grins at the end of the sentence, though.

Finn grins back, then looks around the shop with his familiar puzzled look. “Wait, where’s Puck? I thought he was helping.”

“He went over to the print shop to get a clean copy of the manual printed off.” Kurt reaches into the glove box and pulls out the battered, stained manual in it. “I’m pretty sure this one is missing half of the pages, and what’s left isn’t exactly readable.”

“Oh, yeah,” Finn chuckles. “I guess that wouldn’t be really useful. So, what can I do today?”

“The fender, I think,” Kurt says after a moment. “The back looks the best of the body, anyway, so we won’t have to do much before we repaint back there. But the fender…”

“Do I get to use the rubber mallet?” Finn asks hopefully.

“Not unless you want to hit the wall or something.” Kurt shakes his head. “Dad had Cat send over a replacement.” He gestures to the fender leaning against the wall.

“So I guess I should take the old one off, then,” Finn says. “Ok, that’ll be pretty cool, too, but I still say the best part of working here is using the rubber mallet to hammer out dents.”

“Don’t worry, I promise to let you be the one to attack the hood.” Kurt purses his lips. “It looks like two morbidly obese people made out on it.”

“That’s why you’re the best,” Finn says, grinning. “The mallet part, not the obese people. They don’t really have anything to do with you.”

“Thank god.” Kurt pops the hood and starts cleaning off the engine block. “What color do you think, seriously?”

“We could ask him,” Finn suggests. “In a sneaky way.”

“David would probably be the best to do that.” Kurt pushes up his sleeves. “This engine is in remarkably good shape.”

“I was gonna give him a call anyway, get the ball rolling on letting people know and finding out what they want to do to help,” Finn says, pulling down his tool case. “I mean, everybody loves Casey. Like I said, he’s kind of like our mascot or something. I heard the girls going on about his hair and how Britt wants to take him to the salon or whatever so they can match the color and have them dye her hair. Apparently it ‘looks like jack o’ lanterns’ or whatever.”

“Brittany could pull it off,” Kurt muses, torquing the wrench until the nut pops free. “She’d have to stop wearing so much orange clothing, though.” He sighs and frees another part of the framework. “It’s just, you know. There’s so many Caseys.”

“Yeah,” Finn says, from down on the ground by the rear end of the car, where he’s wrestling with the rusty bolts of the back bumper. “It’s like, how does that kid have so much crap going against him, but he still manages to be so happy all the time?”

Kurt looks up briefly, a little surprised. “Because you just… that’s what you _do_. Most people don’t really want to hear it, you know?” He shakes his head. “And I’m sure part of him thinks that the devil he knows is better than the one he doesn’t.”

“I think there’s parts of him that are a lot like you,” Finn muses. “I mean, other than the gay thing, obviously. Just, until it got so bad last year, nobody really knew what was going on with you. You didn’t fall apart or anything. Maybe it’s like that with Casey?” There’s a loud, clanking clatter of a wrench and a bolt falling to the garage floor. “Got it off, finally!”

“I heard.” Kurt shakes his head. “I. I could go home, you know? Sure, Dad’s not…” He looks around covertly and sees Burt standing out in front of the shop, talking to a customer, before continuing. “Dad’s not perfect or anything, but at least I wasn’t hiding much beyond the tiara collection.”

“Those things are pretty. You shouldn’t keep them in that box like that.”

Kurt stops and stares, then shakes his head again. “I’ll have to move them if – oh, god, Finn, do you remember the conversation we had after prom?”

“Yeah, you were gonna start wearing them all the time, you said,” Finn answers. “You didn’t, though. That’s too bad, because you kind of rock it, dude.”

“No, I mean.” Kurt giggles. “The part about how I should run again this year.”

“You totally should. I’d vote for you a couple of times.”

Kurt’s almost collapsing from laughter. “You remember the entire conversation? I’m _sure_ I could get him to run with me now.”

“You think you can come up with a way to convince him?” Finn asks. “I mean, please don’t tell me what it is when you do, ok? I don’t wanna know. Well, I guess if you _have_ to talk to somebody, I can see if I can make it through the whole conversation. I promised I’d do a better job.”

“Promised what?” Kurt gives Finn a weird look – not that he doesn’t do that frequently, anyway, come to think of it.

“The universe or whatever?” Finn shrugs. “When I thought you were dying, I thought about all kinds of stuff, and one of the stuff, things I mean, was that I should have done a better job of listening to you when you talk about, uh… _you know_.” He drops his voice. “ _Dick stuff._ ”

Kurt dives back under the cover of the hood and decides it’s imperative to test the alternator _right then_ , so Finn won’t see him struggling not to laugh. “That’s um. Nice of you,” Kurt manages. “But I don’t think it would require anything but asking.”

“Oh, well that’ll be easy to listen to you talk about, then!”

“Glad I could help.” Kurt sighs and frowns at the car. “How’s the fender coming?”

“I think I need some WD–40 for this last bolt,” Finn sighs. “It’s so rusted that it’s fused together or something. I think I’ll break the wrench before this comes off.” He gets up and goes over to one of the shelves and fishes around until he comes up with a canister of WD–40.

“It’s so weird how some parts of this are horribly rusted and the rest of it just isn’t.” Kurt purses his lips and circles the car again. “It’s like it was stored where moisture only hit the left rear quadrant.” He pauses near the bench and strips off the overshirt, leaving just a sleeveless T-shirt on. “God, Danny must be in charge of the thermostat today.”

“Is that why it’s so hot in here?” Finn asks. “I was afraid to say something, because I don’t want Burt to think I’m a complainer. I like when he lets me help out around here. It’s a lot better than Sheets n’ Things, and I’m kind of hoping I can, I dunno, pick up some summer work here or something. During college.”

“Danny likes to work in tank tops or sleeveless T-shirts,” Kurt confirms with a nod. “Which means, the rest of us have to, too. I don’t see why Dad wouldn’t let you. Though maybe we should practice a little more on the oil changes.”

“Hey, I’m making a lot less of a mess now,” Finn protests. “And anyway, I learned an important lesson about how you can use kitty litter to clean up oil, so that was good, right?”

“Excellent, yes.” Kurt bends back over the front, wrinkling his nose at the cracks in the radiator hose. He jumps when a hand suddenly lands on his back.

“Easy,” Puck laughs. “One manual, printed. How’s it going?” Puck’s hand trails up Kurt’s back and then down his upper arms.

“Dammit, you scared me,” Kurt scolds, turning around and grinning anyway.

“What? What’d I do?” Finn yelps.

 

Puck shakes his head, laughing at the bewildered expression on Finn’s face. “I think he meant me, dude.”

“Oh, hey, Puck!” Finn says. “I was under the bumper. I only heard the last part!”

“I’m just a scary person.” Puck doesn’t move his hand from where it’s resting on Kurt’s upper arm, grinning at Kurt, who seems fine with pausing for a moment. “How’s it going?”

“This thing has rust in random places,” Finn answers. “It’s so weird, because half the bumper is awful, but other parts of the car are fine.”

Puck tunes Finn out somewhere around rust, grunting once and then leaning forward, initiating a kiss that Kurt’s willing to deepen pretty quickly. He _does_ register Burt calling back, “Hey, Kurt, we still got one of those— KNOCK IT OFF PUCKERMAN!”

Kurt pulls away and rolls his eyes. “Dad!” he protests.

“Not in the shop, kid,” Burt says, eyeballing him sternly. “Especially not when you’ve got the hood up and another guy working on the other end. Full attention on the car until it’s all closed up, just like a heart patient.” Burt grins a little at that last part.

“Fine,” Kurt grumbles. “And if you were asking about the timing belts, no, remember, there was only one and you said you had someone come in needing one yesterday.”

“Ah, dammit, you’re right,” Burt sighs and pulls his hat of to scratch the top of his head, fanning himself with the hat. “Danny been at the thermostat again?”

“Apparently.” Kurt sighs. “I think we’re going to need a radiator hose, if we have any in.”

“Got some in last Tuesday, didn’t we? Might still be in the office. I’ll check when I get a chance,” Burt says, putting his hat back on and heading towards the front of the shop again.

“Thanks,” Kurt calls after him, then turns back to the car, one hand wrapped around Puck’s. “Under the hood is in remarkably good shape, except for those brakes, of course.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Well, I already promised Finn that he could wield the rubber mallet—”

“Hands off my mallet, dude!” Finn calls from the other end of the car. “It’s _mine_!”

“Oh, okay, then.” Puck raises his eyebrows at Kurt questioningly, but Kurt just shrugs.

“—so you could start on the interior, _or_ we could eat lunch first.”

“I vote for food!”

“Of course you do.” Kurt looks over at Puck with a wry smile. “You don’t even know if there’s surprise mushrooms.”

“I think we ought to slip some random mushrooms into Finn’s stuff,” Puck grins. “Mushroom textbooks, mushroom truck…”

“I heard that!”

“You were supposed to!”

“There’s such thing as too much mushrooms, you know!” Finn hollers back.

“That’s okay, today it’s surprise capers,” Kurt says calmly.

“What’s a caper?” Finn says, coming up from the back end of the car, wiping his hands on a rag. “Is that some kind of fish?”

“You’ll just have to eat and find out,” Puck smirks as the three of them walk towards the office area. Burt steps out of the office with a plastic bag in hand.

“Found your hose, Kurt,” Burt says, holding it out. “And I think it’s great, what you guys are doing.”

“Oh, good, thanks,” Kurt says with a sigh of relief, taking the bag from Burt. “And, well, it doesn’t really change too much for him, but.”

“You know if there’s ever a point where you need me to intervene,” Burt begins. “If it’s getting to that point, you need to let me know, right?”

Kurt nods. “I know, Dad.” Burt nods in affirmation and pats Kurt on the shoulder before heading back into the office.

“One weird made-up recipe sandwich for you,” Puck begins, “one for me, one for Finn.”

“Hold the mystery fish!”

“No fish, dude,” Puck snorts. “You’d smell it.”

“Not if it’s _surprise_ fish!” Finn explains.

“Nah, you still would,” Puck argues, handing him the sandwich. “Just eat.”

“There’s carrot sticks, too,” Kurt supplies, already chewing on his own sandwich.

“Is there any ranch to dip them in?” Finn asks. “They’re better with ranch.”

“No. They’re perfectly tasty without ranch. They’re not the baby carrots, they’re real carrots.”

“But carrots _need_ ranch!” Finn practically whines. “They don’t taste like anything without it.”

“Dip them in the sauce in your sandwich.”

“But the sauce has little _things_ in it. Wait, are _those_ the capers?”

“Ding ding ding! We have a winner.” Puck smirks in Finn’s direction.

“They just taste like olives.”

“Really?” Kurt looks surprised. “I don’t think they do at all.”

“Like tiny little olives,” Finn confirms. “They’re good, but why don’t they just call them tiny olives?”

“Because they’re… not olives?” Puck offers.

“Well, whatever, they’re good,” Finn shrugs.

“Glad they meet your approval.” Kurt finishes his first sandwich and reaches into the cooler for a second one. “What time do you and the rest of your committee have to be at the school?”

“Four-thirty for set-up,” Finn says. “I wanted five, but Rachel said it wasn’t enough time, and she wanted four, but Quinn said she had something at three-thirty and couldn’t until four-thirty. So, yeah.”

“I just want to count the money. So close and yet so far.”

“Well, you know. It would save so much money if Britt had to sleep in the hall,” Kurt says, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I think everybody’s definitely safer with Brittany in the hall,” Finn says. “I mean, she’s just _so_ dangerous!”

“Those damn predatory bisexuals.” Puck shakes his head, mock–seriously. “Can’t trust them.”

“With their pegasus pictures and their, um, something else that sounds bisexual and dangerous,” Finn suggests. “Shoes. With their _shoes_!”

“Not shoes!” Kurt gasps. “Whatever will we do!”

“And don’t even start on the dangerous aspects of putting gay dudes in with the straight ones,” Puck continues, still looking very serious. “I mean, Finn, I don’t know how you can stand to eat with us.”

“Well, you do keep feeding me mushrooms and capers,” Finn says. “Do you think that’s, like, gateway food to converting me or something?”

“Totally. Just wait until we make you eat that weird–sounding stuff that’s like bacon.”

“Mmm… bacon…” Finn mumbles.

“See? Already part of the way there,” Kurt announces cheerfully. “I’m going to take this to Dad,” he adds, waving his hand. “Be right back.”

“I think using bacon to convert people to, like, anything would work,” Finn considers.

“Maybe that’s why we don’t get many Jew converts.” Puck shrugs.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t join any religion that wouldn’t let me eat bacon.”

“I tell you, Reform Jews, we need a better advertising campaign. ‘You can eat bacon with us!’”

“Jews for bacon double cheeseburgers!” Finn laughs. “Yeah, that would probably work.”

Puck digs back into the cooler. “Right. ‘You know what ELSE everybody likes? Parfaits!’”

“I like parfaits!”

“See?” Puck shakes his head and pulls the yogurt and fruit out. “There’s granola or something over there,” he nods his head at the bag of food and stuff that doesn’t require the cooler. “Also bowls or cups or whatever.”

“Awesome! I never eat like this on my own,” Finn says, rifling through the food bag. “It’s cool that you guys just _cook_ this stuff.”

“Well.” Puck shifts a little, because he doesn’t really want to get into the whole thing. It’s not like either of them think it’s going to make a huge difference, but it can’t _hurt_. And they’re still saving money over eating out, which does make a difference, over a few weeks. “Y’know. Saves money and shit.”

“Capers aren’t expensive?”

Puck shakes his head. “And you only use, like, a few of them at a time, so.”

“They’re good. I wonder what else I could put them in,” Finn half–mutters to himself. “You think _they_ would go good with grilled cheese?”

“I don’t know, dude,” Puck grins. “What kind of cheese?”

“I only know about four or five kinds,” Finn says, shrugging. “One of those, I guess.”

“I wouldn’t put them with American,” Puck offers. “That much I can tell you.”

“Oh, well that rules out one of them, then.”

Puck snorts and looks out the door. “Look,” he says quieter. “I know you don’t get Kurt’s reaction to, um. Pretzel. But just… you know.”

Finn shrugs. “I don’t get Kurt’s reaction to a lot of stuff. I think our brains just work differently.”

“Just don’t, I don’t know, act like your way is right and so his is wrong, ’cause…” Puck shrugs. “I think he already feels like his is wrong, y’know?”

“Dude, like I have any grounds to tell someone what they think or feel is wrong,” Finn says, shaking his head. “I thought Kurt had, like, rabies. Or hepatitis.”

Puck makes a face and stares at Finn. “Which… don’t have any symptoms in common, I’m pretty sure.”

“We were working off a combination of observation, rumor, and whatever articles popped up first on WebMD.”

“That’s frightening, dude.”

“You’re telling me! I was watching to make sure he could actually drink water still,” Finn says, his eyes wide. “’Cause that’s a bad sign if he couldn’t. He could, though, obviously.”

“I’m just relieved you didn’t _actually_ ask me if he could piss. Bad enough Rachel mentioned it.”

“I wasn’t going to ask that. Ever. Rachel asks awful and inappropriate questions that I would never, ever ask,” Finn insists. “Ever.”

“Right.” Puck shakes his head and resists the urge to roll his eyes, then narrows them. “You aren’t telling Rachel about the Pretzel yet, right?”

“Were you or were you not there when I agreed we weren’t telling anybody,” Finn says, pointedly. “Did I ever tell anybody the _other_ secret stuff before it was time to tell it?”

“Just checking!” Puck defends himself. “Since you and she were in stake-out mode all week.”

“She’s not all that bad, you know,” Finn says. “If I tell her it’s nothing and we had the crazy again, and remind her about the thing with Sam, probably she’ll just be embarrassed and never mention it again.”

“I was more making sure you didn’t think there was a Rachel clause.”

“What’s a Rachel clause?” Kurt inserts, coming back into the room. “Is it the new alternative to the Hanukkah Armadillo? The Rachel Claus?”

“You know. Like a Finn clause, or a Kurt clause, or a Puck clause.”

“Ohh, right.” Kurt nods and grabs a bowl and a spoon and starts assembling his own version of parfait.

“Finn clause? Is that like Santa Claus’s tall brother?”

Puck grins. “You’d look great with a white beard. No. You know, when you tell someone that something is a secret ‘except for…’ The Finn clause.”

“Huh. I never thought about stuff needing clauses. I pretty much either tell everybody or nobody,” Finn answers, looking thoughtful. “Well, except you guys. There’s stuff I tell just you, but I don’t think that’s a clause.”

“But I want a clause,” Kurt half–pouts.

“Ok, what if I call it a brother clause,” Finn suggests. “The stuff I just tell you, it can be all brother–claused.”

“Fine.” Kurt sniffs, leaning against Puck and sighing a little. “Kurt–clause sounds better, though.” Puck wraps his arm around Kurt and thinks that Kurt probably could have used a day without other people, but having the dance that evening sort of eliminated that from the beginning.

“I’ll call it Kurt–clause if it makes you happy,” Finn offers.

“It does.”

“Well, it’s all about keeping you happy, dude. I mean, wouldn’t want you to get, you know, _ruffled_. Mess up your hair or something, it’d be terrible!”

Kurt half-heartedly flips Finn off, and turns his face into Puck’s shoulder. “Just because my hair looks good is no reason to neglect your own head, Finn.”

“What are you talking about?” Finn asks, running his hand over his hair almost daintily, with a funny pursed–lip expression. “My hair is gorgeous.”

“You were genetically well–endowed,” Kurt says, clearly trying to be diplomatic. “What you do with your hair, however.”

“Yeah, I’m well–endowed,” Finn says, proudly, “but don’t let it make you feel bad about yourself.”

Kurt and Puck snort in tandem. “Oh, Finn.” Kurt shakes his head.

“No worries,” Puck smirks.

Finn just grins back in response, and Kurt rolls his eyes. “We should work more. Let you wield the rubber mallet,” he adds, directing the last sentence towards Finn.

“Like the hammer of Thor!” Finn exclaims.

Finn leaves around 3:45, mumbling about taking a quick shower before he goes to the school, and at five, Kurt decides they should probably finish up, too.

“The fender’s replaced, Finn got the hood looking smooth, the interior is sparkling, and the entire radiator system is good to go.” Kurt sighs. “Engine block is clean, I’ve tested the alternator, starter, and battery, all, and Dad’s got his ear out for exhaust system parts. I’ll work on the brakes next, though.”

“Cool?”

“We got a _lot_ done,” Kurt agrees. “And now we need to go shower so we can earn lots of money.”

“Exactly.” Puck grins.

Burt isn’t at the Hudmel house when they arrive, and when Carole informs them that she doesn’t think he’ll be back before they leave, they take advantage of the opportunity to shower together, saving time and water in addition to rest of the benefits. Carole just winks at them when they come back downstairs attired in their black outfits with red vests.

“Finn kept talking about how exciting it was to go without a tie,” she says with a laugh, mid–bite of Ben & Jerry’s – the flavor, Puck is pretty sure, is one of Finn’s, but he’ll keep Carole’s secrets like she keeps theirs.

“Oh, I sort of miss the tie,” Puck whispers into Kurt’s ear as they head out the door. “At least on you.”

“I know you do, baby.” Kurt grins and spins in place before reaching for the handle on the Nav’s door. “Still, how do I look?"

“Like I wish we weren’t going to a place with any other people around,” Puck smirks. “And just a little bruised up.” He runs a thumb along Kurt’s neck.

“Couldn’t be helped,” Kurt says airily, and they head towards the school on that note.

When they walk towards the gym, they find Sam and Mike standing together, looking glum. “I’m beginning to think you have the right idea,” Sam says, looking at Kurt and then Puck. “No girls, or at least no steady girls.” He shakes his head. “We’re working this dance, and they still disappear into the first bathroom.”

Puck snorts back a laugh, and Kurt does that little titter that he does in public that really Puck hasn’t heard in awhile. It makes him frown for a split second. “Well, we’ll still be performing,” Kurt points out.

“True,” Mike nods. “We’ll be performing a lot more than we did at prom, plus all the other stuff.”

“I managed to get out of drink duty.” Puck pumps his arm. “It’s worth having to play more.”

“I hear you!” Sam agrees. “Kurt, you and Tina are covering the piano parts, right?”

Kurt nods. “Yes, and I think Finn’s on drums a good two-thirds of the night. I think Finn said Artie’s going to run the sound system and use his own music to give us a few breaks.”

“Yeah, I think I have to be at the food table every moment I’m not on the stage,” Mike says with a ridiculous pout, and the four of them laugh as Mercedes and Tina finally emerge.

“What’s so funny?” Tina asks.

“Your boyfriend,” Kurt admits. “He’s so very sad about having to be on food duty. Such a hardship, for a teenage boy.”

Mercedes gives Kurt a long, sad look, and Tina looks between Mercedes and Mike, clearly conflicted. If Puck had to guess, he’d say that Mercedes still thinks Kurt’s dying or whatever, but Mike tried to reassure Tina that Kurt isn’t. He grins a little as they walk towards the gym and open the doors. “Oh, dude,” he says to Kurt. “That’s a nasty bruise on your neck.”

Kurt rolls his eyes slightly as he responds. “I know,” he sighs dramatically. “I just don’t know where they’re coming from. I have one on my shoulder, too. At least I know the one on my ass is from ice skating.”

“That was a spectacular fall,” Mike agrees.

As the six of them enter the gym, Finn sidles up next to them and warns, “Just stay out of Quinn’s way, ok? She’s getting all kinds of stuff done, but man, she put on her crazy with her dancing shoes tonight.”

“Is that what makes girls crazy? Ow!” Mike grins unrepentantly at Tina, who looks innocent as she shakes her hand out.

“Remember how I said that I would still count this as a formal dance for the purposes of deciding what to do afterwards?” Tina says with a sweet smile.

“Okay, okay!”

Puck presses his lips together, trying not to laugh as Mike tries to backtrack. “So what are we supposed to do, dude?” Puck addresses Finn.

“Well, you guys are the muscle, so we need you to haul the tables and chairs around over there. We need a food table set up and some seating, if you guys think you can handle that,” Finn says, grinning. “If not, I still have a whole big bag of Chantilly lace you can string up over the windows.”

Before Puck can muster a response, Mercedes and Tina have claimed the bag of lace, dragging Kurt along with them “because you can reach higher than we can!”

“Looks like it’s up to us,” Puck address Mike and Sam, who both nod.

“I’ll go forth and sally with my nemesis, the food table,” Mike announces. “Ours is a love–hate relationship.”

“It’s hard to maintain those abs, I’m sure,” Artie says, wryly. “Go with strength, Mike.”

“SPOOOON!” Mike cries as he strides towards the stack of rectangular tables.

“Seating ’R’ Us?” Sam quips.

“Aren’t they supposed to be standing up the whole time?” Puck asks, smirking. “Dancing?”

“Why aren’t those chairs set up yet?” Quinn snipes, sweeping in out of seemingly nowhere. “We can’t put the swag bows on the chairs until the chairs are where they belong, and without the swag bows, they just look like cafeteria chairs, don’t they?”

“A true tragedy, life without swag bows.” Puck rolls his eyes but follows Sam towards the chairs, in the opposite direction of where Quinn is about to descend on Kurt, Mercedes, and Tina. He purses his lips and tilts his head that way, raising an eyebrow at Sam, who chokes back a laugh and turns to watch as well.

 

Kurt bites back yet another sigh as Mercedes tries not–so–subtly to ask another question about his health, or supposed lack thereof. Tina darts a glance back and forth between them. “No, ’Cedes, I don’t think I have anything to worry about, even with Dad’s history of heart problems. He eats Slim Jims and double-bacon cheeseburgers even at his age. I think the organic non-fat yogurt probably helps me out a little.”

“Is it gossip hour or are you guys actually planning on putting up those decorations?” Quinn asks, her voice sharp and cold.

Kurt pivots slowly to face her, one eyebrow raised. “It would be easier to put them up if they were actual decorations, and not merely yards of uncut fabric. I know that measuring and cutting is a difficult skill.”

“You attach it to the corner of the window and you drape it, Kurt,” Quinn replies, her lips thinning as she frowns at him. “It’s not too complicated, is it?”

“How pedestrian,” Kurt sniffs. “Really, are we at a high school dance or an eight year old’s birthday party? Oh, wait, the last birthday party for an eight year old that I attended didn’t use such, ah, _tried and true_ techniques.” He turns back to the lace, cursing the fact that someone didn’t at least bisect the yardage.

“So I guess the interior designer stereotype doesn’t really hold true, then,” Quinn quips, with an inelegant snort. “And what is that on your neck?”

“A bruise.” Kurt presses his lips together, amused.

“Funny how it looks just like a hickey.”

“Yes, there are _so many_ men lined up, waiting to give me a hickey. How silly of me!”

“Well, I wouldn’t know anything about your lifestyle, Kurt,” Quinn replies, snatching up one of the packs of plastic bubbles from the bags Kurt, Mercedes, and Tina carried over with them.

“No, you’ve made sure of that, haven’t you, Quinn?” Kurt replies calmly, turning again and leaning against the window. “Does it make you feel special, when all eleven of us go one way and you go another?”

Quinn freezes and slowly swivels her head towards Kurt. “I’ve never felt very special when I’ve gone the same way as the eleven of you, so you do the math, if it’s not too hard for you.”

With that, she storms off in Rachel’s direction. Rachel flinches when she sees Quinn approaching her. Kurt catches her eye and mouths ‘Sorry’, before rolling his eyes and turning back to Mercedes and Tina. “And yet,” he muses. “She keeps turning up.”

 

It’s starting to look like the dance is actually going to go off without a hitch, or the dance prep, anyway, but then he notices Hurricane Quinn blowing her crazy all over Rachel.

“Shit,” Finn mutters to himself, heading over to intervene. He plasters the biggest, sunniest, fakest smile ever on his face, and puts one hand on Quinn’s shoulder. Quinn spins around in his direction and is set to go off at him, when Finn distracts her with, “Hey Quinn, did we get the ticket table set up outside? I’m pretty sure it’s not in the right place, if we did, and didn’t you say you wanted to put some of those, um, swag things on it?”

Quinn blinks at Finn and shakes her head a little, like maybe she’s rebooting her crazy brain computer. “Oh, you’re right,” she sighs. “There’s no way it ended up in the right place without me doing it.” She picks up a stack of bows or fabric or whatever they are, and storms out into the hallway.

Finn grins at Rachel. “Better?”

“What _happened_ to her today?” Rachel shakes her head. “She went off on Kurt before she came over here.”

“I dunno, she was bitching about something about Puck earlier, too, before he even got here,” Finn says. “I think she just woke up on the crazy side of bed or something. Maybe it’s the fumes from those posters she made.”

“At least she didn’t demand we have a ‘Bad Romance’ queen,” Rachel adds, grinning just a little and scrunching up her nose.

Finn laughs. “Well, she’d be the winner for sure, if we did!”

“An interesting title.” Rachel steps closer to Finn and puts her arms around his neck. “Do we really have that much left to do?”

“Nah,” Finn mutters, leaning over and nuzzling the top of Rachel’s head. “It’s almost done, and Queen Bad Romance is taking care of the last stuff. Did I tell you today that you smell nice?”

Rachel presses a little closer and then tilts her face up to look at Finn, smiling. “I think you did, but it’s always nice to hear.”

“Well, you always smell nice,” Finn says, pulling Rachel up into a kiss.

Rachel pulls away from the kiss with a little giggle. “Why thank you, kind sir.” She stays close to Finn as she surveys the room. “Ready to perform?”

“Always.”

 

Puck shakes his head as Quinn bustles off to something outside the gym, a collective exhalation seeming to resonate around the room, except for Finn and Rachel, who are apparently in need of reacquainting themselves with each other.

“Can we leave her outside for the entire dance?” Sam quips, and Puck snorts out a laugh.

“Except for when she’s singing? Yeah, sounds about right.”

Finn disentangles himself from his girlfriend and dusts imaginary dust from the front of his shirt when he realizes Sam and Puck are looking in his direction. He grins. “We ready to _rock_?” He throws a devil–horn–rock–hand gesture and makes a ridiculous attempt at a metal face.

“And roll!” Sam answers, and gradually the eleven of them still in the gym cluster in the middle, looking up at the almost–gaudily decorated stage.

“That looks so awesome,” Finn says.

“I think I have a bad romance with it,” Kurt deadpans, and there’s a few snorts of laughter and giggles.

“What time do we start singing?” Mercedes asks.

“Well, I’ll be playing music from my personal collection until 8:10,” Artie says, “and to fill the transitional gaps between singers. Tina will start us off with ‘I Kissed a Girl’ and we just run through the list from there.”

Tina beams at the scattered applause and does a little curtsy. “And Mercedes and I will follow her,” Sam says, “reprising ‘It Takes Two’.”

“Sounds great, guys,” Finn says. “This is going to be so great. Me and Rach are on after you two, right? I didn’t ever really pay too much attention to the list, ’cause I knew she’d keep track better than I could.”

“Yes, we are, Finn,” Rachel reassures him, “and the list is posted just on the side of that large amplifier there, for everyone’s reference.”

“Ok, well, then places, everyone, I guess,” Finn says. “Go double-check your stations and we’ll be ready to go when our guests arrive!”

Puck and Sam wander up to the stage to do a sound check and tune their respective guitars, Tina and Kurt playfully bickering over what height the piano bench should be. Artie messes with some dials on the sound system and gives Puck a thumbs up. “That is _such_ a sweet guitar,” Sam sighs, looking at Puck’s Fender. Puck had vacillated on bringing it or not, but finally decided to, since he’s scheduled to be on the stage more than not.

“Don’t get any big ideas,” Puck warns Sam with a grin.

Quinn comes back in, walking over to Santana and Brittany and engaging them in quiet conversation. Quinn keeps casting a glance in Kurt’s direction that makes Puck worry that she’s planning on Carrie–ing Kurt. He thinks it’s too bad Kurt would be upset about crimes against fashion, or he’d totally pull a prank like in _The Parent Trap_ and cut out the back of Quinn’s dress right before she starts to sing.

Finn bounces around from area to area, double-checking tables and wires that have already been checked. Puck thinks that Finn really looks like a puppy, arms and legs everywhere. The four of them on stage finish their sound check and Artie starts playing “Last Friday Night” over the sound system, much to Puck’s chagrin, and Kurt’s as well.

About halfway through the song, the first paying customers walk into the gym, some underclassmen that Puck genuinely doesn’t know if he’s ever seen before in his life. Whatever; they appear to have come as a group of singles, so ninety bucks. Some couples and another few groups of singles start to trickle in, and then the unlikely combination of Brown, Rickenbacker, Karofsky, and Casey enter the gym together, Casey giving thumbs up to Puck, Kurt, and Finn as he sees them.

Puck grins and nods back at him, amused at the grouping. “Hopefully they paid as singles, right?” Kurt says from behind him, and Puck laughs.

“Yeah, exactly.”

Artie switches the music to Beyonce’s ‘Best Thing I Never Had’ and rolls over to Puck and Kurt. “Looks like it’s filling up fast!”

“You know, you guys could have said if you wanted to hear this song again,” Kurt responds with a slight smirk. “And yes, thank god.”

Artie laughs. “I wasn’t sure that was a song you were looking forward to reprising, given the circumstances and all.” He shakes his head. “Are you two going to try and find somebody to dance with tonight or are you going to lurk back here with me?”

“Was that an offer?” Kurt says, and Puck laughs.

“Yeah, we’ll take turns dancing with you, Artie,” Puck offers.

“I don’t think my heart can take it, guys,” Artie says. “It still has footprints all over it. Well, right footprints and prosthetic leg–prints. I’m just going to sit back here and look pitiful while the happy couples all enjoy themselves, and I thought you two might be down with that, since you’re also on board the Loveless Boat with me.”

“It is a bad romance dance,” Kurt says with a nod, seemingly agreeing with Artie’s sentiments. “At least we didn’t pay for the privilege of being alone.”

“No, we’ll do that at prom, instead,” Artie sighs. “I think any romance is doomed to be bad romance, at least at this juncture.”

“Yeah, but at least you aren’t worried about leaving someone behind,” Puck points out. “Or just going in a different direction.”

“I guess that’s true. That’s one thing I don’t envy when I look at people like Finn and Rachel or Sam and Mercedes.”

“No.” Kurt shakes his head. “That’s going to be interesting to watch. Bad–interesting, not good–interesting.”

“Makes lurking by the sound system not seem so bad, when I think about it,” Artie says. “Speaking of, better queue up the next song.” He heads back towards the sound board and transitions the music into some slow dance number that Puck doesn’t know and causes most of the groups of singles to scatter towards the food table.

Tina walks over midway through the song and waves. “Are you my accomp–argh–this–word?” she asks Puck, and he nods, following her up onto the makeshift stage. Finn appears just as the slow song ends and sits down at the drum set.

There’s no introduction, just a moment between the last beat of the song and the first beat of the music for ‘I Kissed A Girl’, and Tina belts it out, much to the approval of most of the crowd. For it to be early, there’s already a lot of people, and Puck grins a little when he sees some of the freshmen from PFLAG walk in together, including the one that brought food – Taylor.

When the song ends, Tina sits down at the piano and Sam and Mercedes head up on stage, Puck and Finn slipping off it. “It’s hot up there,” Puck complains, wiping off his forehead with one of the towels sitting nearby. Clearly someone anticipated the problem, even if he didn’t.

“Yeah it is!” Finn grins. “Can you believe this turn out?” He does a little dance of joy in place.

“The citizens of McKinley were clearly yearning for a winter dance,” Kurt says, coming up behind them. “Mike’s selling a fair number of tickets at the door.”

“Who knew that all they really needed was for somebody to tell them how much love sucks?” Finn muses. “We could have been doing that ages ago!”

“Love hurts, love scars,” Puck croons, purposely off-key.

Kurt giggles. “Don’t quit your day job, baby.”

“What, helping you with consumer math?” Puck shoots back, grinning.

“Exactly.”

“You guys,” Finn says, shaking his head.

“What?” Kurt looks at Finn strangely.

“You’re just so, I dunno. It’s nice,” Finn shrugs.

“We’re so,” Kurt concludes, looking at Puck and shrugging.

“Finn!” Rachel dives in before Puck can respond. “We’re next! Sam is going to play guitar for us and then you of course will remain on stage so Noah and Kurt can join you for ‘Desire’.” She continues without taking a breath. “I’m quite excited to hear your song that you’re singing later, Kurt, it seems like it will be perfect for our theme!”

Before Kurt or Finn either one can actually form a sentence, though, Rachel tugs Finn away, the last notes of ‘It Takes Two’ echoing over the crowd.

“Yeah, what are you singing, K?”

“It’s called ‘Bloodstained Heart’,” Kurt answers. “It just seemed like… a good opportunity.” He smiles softly at Puck and looks around for a brief second. “I love you.”

“You’re just saying that ’cause it’s almost Valentine’s Day,” Puck teases, and they both laugh. “Love you too,” Puck says, much more quietly, and they stand with their shoulders touching while Finn and Rachel entertain the crowd with ‘Jackson’.

Rachel disappears as soon as the song ends—clearly her dads have been sharing gay ninja tricks with her, even though she’s straight—and Kurt and Puck climb onto the stage to join Finn for ‘Desire’. Puck’s not really sure how the committee selected the songs that they did, but he’s only singing in three, despite playing for a lot of them.

The gym is pretty packed, and the part of Puck that’s in charge of fundraising exults. He sees Mike hovering near the food table and the doors aren’t propped open any more, so they’re probably not going to get many more people. Puck also notices Schue and Ms. P dancing, and bites back a laugh, mid–chorus.

The song ends and Puck and Finn slip off the stage, and a backing track starts playing, Kurt stepping up to the mike in the middle.

 _Love, you’re in pieces_  
There’s no one left to lay you down  
Or say it’s okay  
On the worst night, of the worst year  
Though we might fall, we’ll go out punching

Puck takes a long drink out of one of the water bottles that mysteriously appeared next to the towels and listens to Kurt singing with what he acknowledges is probably a dopey sort of half–smile.

 _We can dream each other_  
To a new day  
Where the good guys always win  
And heaven still means something

 _You hit me like a subway train_  
And I will never be the same  
And darling I’ll follow you down to the ground  
Even when you fall apart, I’ll pick up your bloodstained heart  
And darling I’ll follow you down to the ground

When the music ends, Kurt steps away from the mike and Artie temporarily kills the lights on the stage, playing some ridiculous song intended to get everyone dancing on the main floor while Artie rolls over to the stage. Kurt and Puck hoist him up over the bump at the bottom of the makeshift ramp and then scoot out of Quinn’s way, nodding at Artie’s directions.

“When our song is over, hit the blue button and then the green button,” Artie instructs. “And please, don’t slide _anything_ up or down.”

“Right, slide the yellow and then the black, don’t touch the blue or green or any buttons,” Puck responds, grinning.

“How have you survived this long without someone putting you through a meat grinder?” Artie asks, his tone good-natured.

“My natural charm.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?” Kurt mutters under his breath, but he’s smiling and they sit in front of Artie’s board until the song ends, doing just as Artie instructed. The stage lights up and the music on Artie’s iPod stops, which seems to Puck like the desired results, at least.

The next thirty-five minutes pass quickly until it’s time for all of them to sing ‘Seasons of Love’. Puck’s not sure if this was the best idea for a dance, but at least no one, not even Rachel, suggested that they needed to rehearse it more than the one time they’d done it during fourth period on Thursday. When they finish, Puck has just one song—Santana’s—before he has to go on stage again, first to sing ‘Good Life’ and then to do ‘Next Year’ with Sam and Artie, too. By the time Kurt gets up on stage a little after that to sing ‘In My Life’, Puck’s feeling tired, and he thinks Kurt looks it, a little, though maybe just to him.

Finn does an encore performance of ‘Mack the Knife’, and then the girls and Kurt take the stage to do the titular song of the evening, ‘Bad Romance’. It’s actually a great visual, since the girls are dressed identically and Kurt really stands out. Or that could just be Puck’s opinion.

Kurt sits on the edge of a chair and downs half a water bottle at once after leaving the stage, stifling a yawn. “Stop it,” Puck chides. “You’re going to make me start yawning.”

“Everyone seems to be having a good time,” Kurt comments. “Everyone got to dance a few dances in between singing.”

Finn comes up holding the money box. “Dude, you look exhausted!” he says to Kurt. “Here,” he adds, handing the money box to Puck. “I think you guys should get out of here. Go home and count our money, dance a slow dance or something.”

“Okay,” Kurt acquiesces almost immediately, hauling himself to his feet, and Puck follows suit, finally yawning like he’d thought he would. “See you at home. Go dance with Rachel more.”

“I’ll do that!” Finn says, like it’s the best idea he ever heard. “Thanks, you guys. You did great!” With that, he jogs off to find Rachel.

Puck grabs the Fender in the hand that’s not carrying the money box, and they slip out of the gym just as Quinn finishes ‘It’s In His Kiss’, which Puck thinks might be one of the stupider songs ever written, lyrics–wise.

They walk slowly down the hall once they’re clear of the gym, and by the time they reach the parking lot, Puck’s arm is around Kurt’s waist, and vice versa, both of them leaning against the other. It’s reckless, more reckless than the mark on Kurt’s neck, but once again, Puck thinks that maybe they’re just so tired. Puck feels awful, then, but as much as he’s tired, he’s also terrified of the reaction, the place where they live. Santana got slushies and verbal harassment. Kurt already gets verbal harassment. Kicking it up a notch, as Hannah would quote, seems like it would have a very poor outcome.

Kurt goes to the passenger side of the Nav without comment, so Puck drives them back to Kurt’s house, where they wave at Carole and Burt in the living room and continue upstairs to Kurt’s room. “I’m going to shower while you do impressive math,” Kurt says, and Puck smiles.

“Okay.”

It takes awhile to count the money, and then double check the totals, but Puck has the money bundled and the coins rolled by the time Kurt emerges from the bathroom, clad in slippers, fleece pajama pants, and a sweatshirt that looks suspiciously familiar to Puck. “We did good, blue eyes.”

“Oh?” Kurt crawls under his covers and then pats the bed next to him. Puck takes off the vest and black shirt, leaving himself in undershirt and black pants, and sits down on top of the covers.

“Just over seven thousand five hundred.”

“That’s good?”

“That’s really good,” Puck confirms. “The best deals I can find online are five or six hundred a person for airfare and hotel. Even if Figgins takes away all the money we’re supposed to get from the district, we have enough for airfare, hotel, and two-fifty a person for food.”

“I know you’d like to up that food budget,” Kurt teases, sliding down on his pillow and further under the duvet. “So I suspect we’ll still do a booth at the spring carnival.”

“Couldn’t hurt,” Puck agrees. “Going to sleep, K?”

“Mmm. Maybe?” Kurt answers, smiling up at Puck. “We’ve had a long day.”

“We have. A pretty good day, though.”

“Oh, it would have been better if we’d left the car and arrived here to no one home and a note from Finn saying we didn’t have to attend the dance.”

“Well, that’s true.” Puck grins.

“I think I’ll go over there in the morning,” Kurt adds, yawning. “Text me to make sure, but I’ll probably be there when you get done with work.”

“Okay.” Puck falls silent for a few minutes, rubbing his thumb over Kurt’s hand, and when he glances over, he realizes Kurt really has fallen asleep. He scoots himself down a little, still on top of the covers, and claims one lone throw that Kurt isn’t using to wrap around his upper body. The lamp is on, he rationalizes; he won’t go to sleep. He’s just getting comfortable for a few minutes before he has to drive home.

“Puckerman. Puck.”

Puck doesn’t really register the words as being from an actual person. A small part of his brain suggests that they might be, but the rest of him is thoroughly convinced that he’s on Lake Erie watching Brittany and Santana do a synchronized water-skiing routine, and the voice is just Artie asking if he wants another wine cooler. Which sounds good.

“Sure, pomegranate raspberry this time.”

“Puckerman, you staying or going, kid? ’Cause if you’re staying, I need to call your mom.”

“She likes water-skiing,” Puck mumbles, and he’s not really sure why Artie wants to call his mom.

“I’ll take that as ‘staying’ then. Door stays open.”

“No doors.” Puck frowns and sighs, then nods his head. Who would put doors on a boat?

“Yeah, doors, or I’m hauling you out of the bed and carting you home myself, you got it, kid?”

“You’re not Artie,” Puck finally realizes.

“No, but thanks for noticing,” Burt says. “I’ll call your mom. Keep your hands above the covers.” With that, he flips off the lamp, pointedly pushes the door all the way open, and disappears.

Puck lies there, confused for a few minutes, before he remembers that yeah, he actually is lying in Kurt’s bed, and apparently he has tacit permission to stay there. _Sweet_. He lies there for a little longer before he realizes he does need to get up to go to work, so he sets the alarm on his phone and then turns over, curling against Kurt despite the covers in the way.

 

Kurt smiles to himself, shuffling a little closer to Puck and resting his head on the side of Puck’s shoulder. He absently thinks that Puck’s skin is sort of cold, and then he frowns. Wait.

Kurt opens his eyes and blinks. Yes, his room. Yes, Puck beside him. Well. It takes another thirty seconds for his brain to remind him of how they probably ended up there. Still, his dad must’ve come in, given the time. The house is dark and quiet, and Kurt might not have woken up except for needing to stumble back into the bathroom for a moment.

When he gets back into the bedroom, he can barely make out the shape of Puck on the bed, huddled up and clearly, in Kurt’s mind, cold. “Silly,” he murmurs, brushing his hand over Puck’s head. “One little blanket isn’t enough.”

It takes a little bit of effort, and a strange whisper of “No, pretty turkey, just sing for me,” but Kurt manages to get Puck underneath the sheets and the duvet, at least, and then Kurt slides back into bed himself. He checks Puck’s phone to be sure the alarm is set, then wraps his arms around Puck and pulls him close. Why his dad didn’t make Puck leave, Kurt doesn’t know, but he’s certainly not going to complain.

 

When Puck wakes up with his alarm, he’s underneath the covers and Kurt’s wrapped around him. He smiles a little and slowly extricates himself from Kurt’s grip, leaning back over to kiss the tip of Kurt’s nose. Kurt wrinkles his nose and then half–smiles before rolling over, and Puck just makes sure all of Kurt’s blankets are piled on properly. He yawns and spares a moment to be thankful that he was wearing black the night before, because all he has to do is put his shirt back on and he can go to work.

He steals a packet of Finn’s Pop-Tarts, knowing Finn’ll blame Carole, anyway, and then frowns. If he goes out through the garage, it’ll make a ton of noise, but if he goes out the front, he can’t lock the deadbolt behind him, and Burt and Kurt between them are big on the deadbolt. He finally decides to go out the sliding door (which is, in fact, unlocked – thank you Hudson half of the Hudmels) and hops over the fence before climbing into the Nav.

Sunday morning is slow, so when his phone dings around seven, he doesn’t have to wait to read it.

_Stupid work. Missed you when I woke up. xx_

Puck grins.

_You had a grip, K. C u at 2 xx_

 

Kurt is aware that he’s probably far too chipper for the hour, but between the Trans Am and actually getting to sleep with Puck for the first time in over a month, he really can’t be bothered by anything. The large cup of coffee probably doesn’t hurt, either.

Burt walks over to where Kurt is working on the brakes, getting down low to talk to him. “She’s coming along nicely.”

“She’s got good bones,” Kurt agrees, nodding. “I think I’ll replace the brake lines completely, though. Plus the new pads and shoes.”

“Glad you’re having a good time with this. It’s a good thing you’re doing for that boy,” Burt says, pride evident in his voice. A brief pause, and then, “Puckerman get off to work alright this morning?”

Kurt pauses for half a second, then continues and nods. “Yes. Thanks,” he adds, voice quiet.

“Don’t thank me too much. I wasn’t being generous or anything. Kid seemed way too out of it to drive home, though,” Burt answers. “Something about his mom water-skiing and pomegranate flavored I don’t even wanna know what. Didn’t seem right to wake him up and make him drive. Don’t think of making it an every night thing, though.”

Not _every_ night leaves the option of _some_ nights open in Kurt’s mind, so he nods, then giggles a little. “I woke up around 2 and he said something about a pretty turkey that he just wanted to sing for him.”

“I question your boyfriend’s sanity, Kurt.”

“To be fair, Hannah was a singing turkey in the school Thanksgiving program,” Kurt points out. “Ugh, this thing is – ah, tight!” He glares at the offending part.

“Need an extra set of hands?” Burt asks.

“Possibly a flamethrower.”

“I can get King Midas after it,” Burt offers. “Lucky wrench always does the trick.”

“Go for it,” Kurt concedes. “That caliper is wedged or something.”

Burt heads to his office and comes back with the brass-plated wrench a very young Kurt gave Burt for his birthday one year. Sure enough, it only takes a few yanks before the offending caliper comes unwedged. “Told you, kid. Lucky.”

“And yet you’re questioning Puck’s sanity,” Kurt laughs, nodding his thanks. “I think I ripped that guy off, actually.”

“Just because you’re good at your work, doesn’t mean this thing wasn’t a—pardon my French—hunk of shit when you pulled it in here,” Burt remarks, wiping King Midas off with his pocket rag.

Kurt tilts his head, considering his dad’s words. “True. But the engine _is_ in fantastic shape.”

“Well, what he don’t know won’t hurt him,” Burt says, with a shrug.

“It’s his own fault,” Kurt finally decides. “If he’d let someone else look at it, they could have told him.” He grins. “So we pull up, and he says something to me about how she looks, and starts rattling off about oh, it’s a five speed manual to Puck – like that’s anything really technical anyway.”

Burt shakes his head. “Sounds like he’s lucky he got what he did, then. I say we chalk any loss of profit on his part up to him being an assuming jackass.” He quirks a smile at Kurt. “And as a former assuming jackass, I feel I’ve got a right to say that.”

Kurt just shakes his head. “Dad, I didn’t need anyone to build me a car.”

Burt is quiet for a moment. “I guess we’ve done alright with what we got, kid,” he finally says. “Better than a lot of people get. That friend of yours, he’s lucky to have you.”

“It’s not enough,” Kurt admits, staring at the car. “But it’s something, and maybe all the somethings add up after awhile, right?”

“I like to think they do, Kurt,” Burt says, putting his arm around Kurt’s shoulders. “Life’s pretty bleak otherwise.”

 

Kurt sends Puck a text around lunchtime, indicating he is, in fact, still going to be at the shop, so Puck just runs home and grabs a change of clothes, then heads over to the shop. Burt waves as Kurt climbs into the Nav, looking tousled at best. “Let me guess. You want to go home and shower.”

“Please,” Kurt acknowledges with a laugh. “But I got the brake line replaced and the pads, too. The rest of the caliper just needed a _really_ thorough cleaning.” He shakes his head. “Seriously, you wouldn’t believe how many repairs could be prevented by maintenance and cleaning.”

“Probably not,” Puck agrees.

“Dad said he’d be at the shop for another hour or so,” Kurt addresses Carole when they reach the Hudmels and troop inside.

“Oh, okay.” Carole smiles. “Would you boys mind doing me a favor?”

Kurt exchanges a quick glance with Puck. How can they really deny her, right? “Um, sure?”

“I just wondered if you’d go to the grocery store and pick up a few things.” Carole brandishes a list in one hand. “After you shower, of course, Kurt.”

“Of course we can,” Kurt replies, pasting on a bright smile. “Just leave it on the table and we’ll get it when we’re done.”

“Thanks, sweetie.” She winks a little at them as they head up the stairs, and Puck shakes his head, amused.

Kurt swings the bedroom door closed, immediately starting to strip. “So Dad said that we shouldn’t plan on something like last night every night.”

Puck stops in the process of shedding his own clothes, which really, he’s been wearing way too long. “ _Every_ night?”

“That does sort of imply the possibility of some nights, doesn’t it?” Kurt grins.

“It does.” Puck laughs. “For some reason, I thought your dad was Artie. I was having some kind of dream about watching water-skiing.”

Kurt giggles. “You talked to me about a pretty turkey when I woke up around two.” Kurt tugs Puck into the bathroom with him, pressing his body against Puck’s, and Puck lets out a breath, inhaling with his face pressed against the side of Kurt’s head.

“I didn’t call you a turkey, at least.”

“That’s true.” Kurt slides his lips down Puck’s jaw, giggling a little. “ _You_ didn’t shave today.”

“Guilty as charged.” Puck cups Kurt’s jaw in his hand. “Neither did you.”

“I probably should now.”

“Or you could wait until the morning.” Puck suggests, brushing his lips over Kurt’s cheek and then Kurt’s own lips.

“Persuade me.”

“Such a hardship,” Puck teases, pressing his lips more firmly against Kurt’s and running his tongue along them until Kurt’s mouth slowly opens. He uses one arm to pull Kurt flush against his body, the other hand moving from Kurt’s jaw to run through Kurt’s hair, holding his head in place as well. Kurt’s tongue slowly moves into Puck’s mouth, running along the inside of Puck’s mouth and causing both of them to make whimpering noises that they would categorically deny if necessary. Well, maybe; Puck’d first wonder why someone was listening so closely, anyway.

Kurt pulls away from the kiss and slowly sinks down onto his knees, nuzzling his face against Puck’s groin and then tonguing Puck’s balls, carefully avoiding Puck’s cock. Puck can feel the speed of his breathing increase and he bites down on his lip. Kurt keeps laving his tongue against Puck’s balls, and Puck leans against the wall with his upper body, trying not to make too much noise. Finally, finally, Kurt spreads his tongue against the underside of Puck’s cock and paints a wide stripe upwards. He pauses to nibble at the tip, tonguing the slit and then gently scraping his teeth over Puck’s length.

Puck hisses at the contact, but when Kurt stops and looks up questioningly, Puck shakes his head. “Don’t stop,” he manages to squeeze out, and then Kurt’s eyes close again and he returns to his self-appointed task. Kurt’s cheeks hollow and Puck watches Kurt take more and more of him into his mouth, tongue wrapping around, and Puck bites down on his lip, hard. Another scrape of Kurt’s teeth and Puck’s hips jerk forward, Puck tightening his hand in Kurt’s hair almost unconsciously. Kurt repeats the action, taking as much of Puck’s length as he can, then letting his teeth drag against Puck as he pulls back. “Fuck, yeah,” is about all Puck can manage, approving of Kurt’s plans, and when Kurt’s hand brushes against his entrance at the same time, Puck comes hard, filling Kurt’s mouth while Kurt’s tongue chases down each drop.

Kurt stands and turns on the shower with an anticipatory sigh, and Puck just watches him, eyes on Kurt’s still–hard cock. “Your hair’s getting a little long, baby,” Kurt says, tossing one of those Lush–thingies into the shower. “You going to let me see those curls?” He brushes his hand over Puck’s head, and Puck leans into the touch. “Or you want me to take care of that for you?”

“Oh.” Puck had been about to laugh at the idea of letting his hair get long enough to curl, but he catches his breath a little and grins. “If you want to.”

“I do,” Kurt admits, then steps into the shower, pulling Puck with him. “I also want to fuck you,” he adds in a whisper, and Puck shudders, stepping under the warm spray and inhaling whatever it is that he smells deeply. “Do you want that, Puck?”

“Yeah,” Puck responds, voice a little rough. “Yeah, blue eyes.”

“Mmm, I love it when you call me that,” Kurt admits, kissing Puck softly and chastely for a long moment before finally deepening the kiss. When Kurt breaks away, he gestures for Puck to sit down in the shower, and Puck can hear him clattering behind him. “It’ll be shorter this way,” Kurt warns. “At least for a few days.”

“Nonexistent you mean,” Puck answers. “Hair grows.”

“It does,” Kurt agrees, and then Puck closes his eyes as Kurt’s hands rub over his scalp—probably that shaving stuff, but Puck’s not keeping track—and then the scratch of the razor against his skin. Yeah, there’s not going to be any hair to speak of for a little bit, but Puck _does_ have a hat, and it _was_ getting long, and he gets to feel Kurt’s hands on him, and Kurt’s erection occasionally brushing against him as well.

“There,” Kurt whispers after just a few minutes, and runs his hand over Puck’s now bare scalp. Puck shivers a little and can practically here the smile on Kurt’s face. “Stand up, baby.”

Puck complies, not turning around, and a moment later, two slick fingers push inside him. Puck sighs and pushes back against them, widening his legs and bracing one arm against the wall of the shower. “Please.”

“Please?” Kurt’s voice is light. “You want another finger, Puck? Or do you want my cock?”

“Fuck, yes, your cock,” Puck answers, rocking his hips, and Kurt’s fingers withdraw. He cries out a moment later as Kurt’s cock pushes in, nothing slow or gentle about the motion. “Fuck, Kurt!”

Kurt stills for a moment. “Okay?”

“Move, please,” Puck says after a moment, the stretch burning but his prostate and the rest of him demanding more. Kurt doesn’t speak again, just complies, his hips jerking as he drives into Puck repeatedly. Puck groans and tightens around Kurt, his brain reminding him it’s a good thing Sunday night rehearsals are primarily vocal rehearsals. He probably _could_ dance after this, but he doesn’t think he’d particularly want to.

“So fucking tight,” Kurt whispers after a long moment, still thrusting hard, and Puck just nods, leaning against the wall and breathing heavily in the scented steam. “Not going to last long, baby.”

Puck shakes his head and slowly flexes his muscles, then clenches them, and grins when Kurt stiffens and cries out, coming hard inside Puck. Kurt’s body collapses against Puck’s and Puck twists his neck to find Kurt’s lips. “Good?” he whispers a moment later, and Kurt just nods before hurriedly washing both of them off.

“A little sore?” Kurt teases while he watches Puck get dressed, and Puck just grins. “Or just what you asked for?” he continues, coming up behind Puck and wrapping his arms around Puck’s waist.

“Yes,” Puck answers with a short laugh, and Kurt grins against his neck.

“Thought so,” he says, smugly, and then releases Puck, getting dressed himself.

They clatter back down the stairs and grab the list from the table, then head out to the Nav, and Puck breathes an inward sigh of relief that Burt didn’t make it home before they left.

“How’d we end up doing this?” Kurt asks after they’re at Ray’s, almost finished.

“Because we’re awesome, um. Son–like creatures.”

“Son–like creatures?”

“Sure. We’re… sort of like her sons. Except not _exactly_. The important part is, we’re _awesome_.”

“I will concede the point,” Kurt finally says, pushing the laden–down cart into the next aisle with a sigh. “What’s left on the list?”

“Pop. Fanta Orange, Pepsi Throwback, Dr. Pepper, and Diet Coke.”

“What?” Kurt grabs the list out of Puck’s hand. “We can’t buy Diet Coke!”

“Why not?”

“Only Carole drinks it.”

“And?” Puck shrugs.

“It’s bad for Pretzel,” Kurt hisses.

“Oh, shit!” Puck’s eyes widen. “But she doesn’t know we know!”

“I know!” Kurt scowls. “We can tell her they ran out?”

“There’s only, like, four cases. Mom likes Diet Coke. I can buy them first and then it’s not a lie even, right?”

“Perfect!” They scoop up all the cases of Diet Coke onto the bottom of the cart, making their way rapidly to the check-out. “She’ll just have to buy it herself if she’s going to be like that.”

 

They head back towards Puck’s for dinner with Rina and Hannah, much to Hannah’s delight, then turn around and drive back across the river to pick up Finn and head to Mike’s for rehearsal.

“Hey guys!” Finn says, almost hopping into the back of the Nav in his enthusiasm for rehearsals. “Everybody ready to shake their groove things or whatever?”

“I thought we’d be singing mostly, like we have been lately on Sundays,” Puck says quickly, eyes widening a little.

“I dunno, I usually leave that up to Mike now,” Finn answers, shrugging. “It’ll depend on what he thinks we need. I mean, _I_ always need more dancing practice, but that’s just me.”

“You’re a special case, dude,” Puck agrees, nodding slightly.

“That’s true!” Finn laughs a little and there’s a thunk of his foot hitting something. “Uh, why is the back of the Nav full of cases of Diet Coke?”

“Oh, crap, we forgot to take it up to your mom,” Kurt says, frowning at Puck, then addressing Finn. “Carole had us go to Ray’s and she wanted Diet Coke, but it’s bad for Pretzel, so Puck went through the line first and bought it for Rina. So we could tell Carole legitimately that they were sold out.”

“She can’t drink Diet Coke!” Finn almost yells. “That’s really bad for her. I remember when, I mean, someone told me that once, and I remember it was _bad_.”

“Exactly!” Kurt answers, nodding. “So we, uh.”

“Confiscated it.”

“Good!” Finn exhales loudly, obviously a sigh of relief. “It’s like she’s forgotten all the rules of being pregnant. This is why it’s a bad idea to have babies when you’re old, dude.”

“I’ll keep that in mind in case I ever decide to let Kurt knock me up,” Puck says dryly.

“I’m just saying, it’s good that Zachary Quinto fathered his love child on you while you’re still young, Kurt,” Finn answers. “You won’t forget about stuff like Diet Coke and how cream cheese gives the baby brain tumors or cat diseases or something.”

“Cat tumors?” Puck offers. “Hey, for your assignment, Kurt, you should sing ‘Love Child’.”

Kurt giggles. “Only if we could record everyone’s faces for posterity. Or blackmail.”

“I can make that happen,” Finn says, pulling his phone out of his back pocket and brandishing it like a weapon. “I’ll film it!”

“I’m never sure if you and that phone together aren’t dangerous,” Puck remarks. “Sometimes I’m sure of it, though.”

“What else do we have to keep away from Carole?” Kurt asks. “We’re going to end up with a mobile grocery store in the Nav.”

“Heavy metal fish, cream cheese, alcohol, coffee,” Finn lists off. “And, um, there was another thing. Some kind of meat? Or some plant. Oh, and cold medicine!”

“Heavy metal… fish?” Kurt shakes his head. “Oh, no. We can’t keep coffee out of the house. No, no, no.” Kurt looks a little crazy, even though Puck knows Kurt doesn’t depend on coffee near as much as Puck does.

“We could, like, look at her disapprovingly,” Finn suggests. “Stare at her without saying anything if she tries to pour a cup of coffee. Or hide the real stuff and put decaf where the normal coffee goes, and then make our own after she’s done.” He pauses, then says, “Unless it’s the coffee and not the caffeine, in which case, we’re screwed.”

“Plus she keeps finding hidden things,” Kurt points out. “Didn’t you say your Ben and Jerry’s was missing the other day?”

“Yes!” Finn shakes his head. “It was almost a whole container, too, and it was just _gone_ , like a cow after you drop it into a tank of piranhas, dude. Stripped to the _bone_. Oh, also? This morning when I got up, my Pop-Tarts were gone!”

Puck turns his head to the side a little to hide his smirk, but after a moment, Kurt squeezes his hand. Finn probably doesn’t even realize that Puck was there overnight. “Pop-Tarts probably have all kinds of important nutrients, right?” Puck says.

“I don’t think Finn will give them up even if they don’t.”

“They’re fortified!”

“When do you think it’s coming?” Puck muses.

“What? Pretzel?” Finn asks. “Mom doesn’t even look pregnant at _all_ so she can’t be very pregnant.”

“I guess it depends on if she took the test right away or after awhile,” Kurt shrugs. “Or, uh. You know. When.”

“When what?”

“When they.” Kurt makes a little face and gestures with his hand. “I mean.”

“Oh. _OH_. Dude!” Finn makes that strangled noise, which Puck realizes he hasn’t actually heard in a while. “Oh, Dude. I had a thought.”

“Do we want to know?” Kurt asks, a little frightfully.

“Oh, no, man, that would just be too weird.”

“What?” Kurt demands.

“ _Little pink bag_ , dude,” Finn hisses.

“Ohhhh!” Kurt and Puck chorus together, both of them making a face. “Ohh, god, Finn,” Kurt continues. “I _bought_ that.”

“I _know_!”

“I need to erase that thought from my brain now!”

“How do you think _I_ feel? It’s _my mom_!”

“And my dad! You couldn’t have kept that thought to yourself?”

“I thought it might be a bonding moment?” Finn suggests. “Also, if I have to have that mental image, so do you. We’re _family_. We _share_!”

“Such brotherly love,” Kurt deadpans, and Puck snorts.

“Oh thank God, we’re here,” Finn says. “Saved by the driveway.”

“And we’re first,” Puck notes. “Plenty of time for Asian snacks.”

“So we can get our heavy metal fish on?” Kurt suggests.

“Rock out with your, um, cod out, dudes,” Finn agrees.

“ _Really_?” Puck leers.

“ _COD_ , dude. Cod.”

“You do know what a codpiece is, don’t you?” Kurt asks, knocking on the door.

“Um, something that a cod goes in, I’m guessing?”

“Not quite. How to explain…” Kurt muses.

“It’s like a giant sign saying look at my dick,” Puck interjects, just as Mike opens the door.

“No thanks?” Mike offers weakly.

“Agreed,” Finn mumbles.

“You’re the one who told us to rock with our cod out, dude,” Puck says. “Not my fault.”

“It’s a _fish_!” Finn calls out over his shoulder as he hurries towards Mike’s basement.

“No dancing,” Puck says firmly to Mike as they follow Finn more sedately.

“Um, okay?” Mike shrugs. “It’s probably not good for us to practice dancing anywhere but the stage at this point, anyway.”

“Good!” Puck grins at him and leans against the wall as they wait for the rest of club to show, and Mike shrugs again, looking confused.

“You don’t want to dance?”

“Um. Not today.” Puck is just thinking that he’s gotten away with it, when Mike slowly turns and looks at Kurt, who is the picture of perfect innocence. Too perfect.

“Ohhh.” Mike smirks. “Duly noted.”

It doesn’t take long for everyone to appear in Mike’s basement, and Puck spends a moment wondering if they’d get in trouble if they just showed up at the school on Sunday nights, too.

“So, no dancing tonight, right Mike?” Finn calls over to Mike.

“Right!” Mike answers, looking slightly amused still. “And you mentioned something about, oh, what was it?” Mike’s clearly hamming it up. Puck hides a smirk; good, Finn needs more people to mess with him.

“Fish? Yeah, don’t eat that fish,” Finn says, shaking his head. “Moving right along, let’s start at the top and run through everything. After we’re done, I want us to talk seriously about Nationals for a little bit.”

“Two-fifty a person for food!” Puck calls out.

“Per meal?” Mercedes looks incredulous. “Are we going to have to start hoarding snack packs of chips?”

Puck chuckles. “Two hundred fifty, for the entire trip.”

“Oh. _Oh_.”

“That’s a lot of money for food,” Quinn says. “I can’t imagine needing to eat _that_ much, though I guess we all have different metabolisms.”

“Food costs a lot more in New York City, though, remember?” Rachel points out. “And we’re going to be there for nearly four full days! That’s really not that much.”

“As long as food isn’t taking priority over lodging,” Quinn responds. “I think we could stand to go a little lighter on meals so we aren’t shoved seven to a room.”

“Don’t worry, Brittany would have to sleep in the hall if Mr. Schue had his way,” Kurt says, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, his little scheme doesn’t really work.” Santana nods at Kurt.

“Ok, enough about the luxuries of New York,” Finn interrupts. “If we suck at Regionals, nobody’s sleeping in the hallway or spending hundreds of dollars on food. Let’s sing!”

They do just that for 90 minutes, until Finn stops them at last.

“That was great, really great! Everybody catch your breath, grab some water, and let’s circle up and talk Nationals. Me and Mike had some ideas.”

“Let’s hear ’em,” Sam says, tossing out water bottles.

“Well, it’s possible that we have another original song to work with,” Finn grins.

“Sweet,” Artie comments. “Where’d we get it? You and Puck like last year?”

Finn looks at Puck and flicks his eyes over to Kurt. Puck raises his eyebrows and nods. He’s pretty sure Kurt would be pissed—rightly so—if he didn’t get credit. People don’t _have_ to write songs about their own lives, despite what the entire club seems to think.

“Puck… and Kurt, this time,” Finn says, grinning. “It’s really good!”

“Do we get to hear it?” Tina asks, smiling at Puck and Kurt in turn.

“Yeah, if you want,” Finn shrugs. “You got the CD still, Mike? Rach, you want to show them the choreography for the chorus?” Mike and Rachel both nod. Finn holds his hand out for Rachel’s and the move to the open space in the basement, so they have room to dance without Finn kicking somebody.

Mike pops the CD in, and Puck watches the rest of the club instead of Finn and Rachel, and he notices Kurt doing the same thing. Tina’s moving a little with the music, and Mercedes and Sam both seem to be enjoying it. Santana notices Puck watching and raises her eyebrows, smirking a little at him. Puck grins and flips her off.

Brittany hooks one arm through Santana’s and tries to put her other through Quinn’s, but Quinn shrugs her off, looking decidedly uncomfortable. Brittany frowns at Quinn for a moment, but then leans her head over on Santana’s shoulder and smiles sweetly through the rest of the song.

“That was really good,” Artie says, when the song is over. “Upbeat, but kind of sad.”

“It’s a lot of fun,” Rachel agrees with Artie, smiling. “They did a great job!”

“They did, and I think it’ll be the perfect duet for Nationals,” Finn says, firmly. “Which leaves us with two more. I think what we’ve done before, duet, big dance number, and then a group singing number with choreography, but not, like, dance– _intensive_ is the formula we should think about.”

“I think we should do more Killers,” Brittany says. “That was fun. We can do more girl–girl dancing, too!”

Mike looks thoughtful for a moment. “Any particular song?”

“’Somebody Told Me’?” Tina offers after a second. “Good strong beat.”

“I like it,” Mike decides. “And we could do a mix of opposite–sex and same–sex couples. I think New York City can handle what Columbus and Cleveland can’t.”

“Awesome! More gay dancing!” Finn says, with real enthusiasm. “Told you, Puck, I’m totally lifting you this time, dude.”

“Nooo,” Puck protests, shaking his head. “We have a _deal_ , man.”

“Kurt?” Finn turns his puppy dog eyes on Kurt, who raises an eyebrow and looks at Finn like he’s insane.

“I’ll dance with you, Finn,” Brittany offers. “I’ll lift you this time.”

“She could, too,” Santana says, glaring at Sam and Mercedes, who were about to laugh.

“No lifts!” Mike interjects, stifling a laugh of his own at Santana’s face. “I was thinking more like swing dancing. Aggressive swing dancing.”

Finn looks a little startled. “Oh, yeah, I guess we can try that.”

Puck exchanges a look with Kurt, who’s trying hard not to smile.

“Two down, then,” Santana says. “What’s our last one?”

“I’d like something with a similar sound or feel to ‘Marchin’ On’,” Finn says. “Thoughts?”

“Has anyone done anything lately that would work?” Mercedes pipes up.

“Puck did that song last week?” Finn suggests.

“ ‘This Is War’?” Puck clarifies.

“Yeah, that one.”

“Well, obviously, I think it’d work.” Puck shrugs.

“That’s 30 Seconds to Mars, yeah?” Sam asks rhetorically. “Yeah, that could be good.”

“I liked it,” Artie says. “I think it has a good message, for all that on the surface it’s about war.”

“It’s almost like a nice continuation of ‘Marchin’ On’,” Rachel offers.

“Ok, making the official call,” Finn says. “Unless someone has a better suggestion, our third song is ‘This is War’.”

There’s no disagreement and a few nods, and everyone looks more or less pleased with the outcome. Of course, it’ll mean more figuring out of solos and more arranging, but luckily Finn doesn’t seem too keen on doing that yet.

Finn decides to leave with Rachel, and Puck grudgingly admits that yeah, he could probably use to go back to Kurt’s and work on stuff for auditions and piano and music theory, as long as it’s not keeping Carole up or anything, so that’s what they do, Kurt curling up on the sofa nearby.

 

Monday is pretty normal, until at the end of physics, when Ms. Sanders announces that she’s going to have surgery the next month, and they’ll have a long–term substitute starting on March 12. Puck rolls his eyes but dutifully writes it down before heading towards English, where Rachel babbles a little about how sorry she is that she was pumping him for information about Kurt, then drops the matter entirely when he raises his eyebrows and shakes his head a little.

“All right, did anyone get a chance to figure out their personal statement song? I know it was a busy weekend.”

Puck shakes his head a little; it feels like the weekend was pretty long, come to think of it. He fingers the piece of paper folded up in his shirt pocket; Schue’ll ask how they did at the dance at some point.

“I have mine prepared, Mr. Schuester,” Quinn says, her voice dripping with the false nicety that seems to be one of her two emotional facades these days. “I’ll be singing ‘Leaving On A Jet Plane’, which has been sung by artists such as Peter, Paul, and Mary.” She tosses her head and smiles prettily at the jazz band, who start to play as she shoots a triumphant look at the rest of them.

 _All my bags are packed, I’m ready to go_  
I’m standing here outside your door  
I hate to wake you up to say goodbye  
But the dawn is breakin’, it’s early morn  
The taxi’s waitin’, he’s blowin’ his horn

Despite the words, Puck thinks she looks more like she absolutely cannot wait to leave. The parts about not wanting to go seem incredibly forced.

 _So kiss me and smile for me_  
Tell me that you’ll wait for me  
Hold me like you’ll never let me go  
Cause I’m leavin’ on a jet plane  
Don’t know when I’ll be back again  
Oh, babe, I hate to go.

 _Cause I’m leavin’ on a jet plane_  
Don’t know when I’ll be back again  
Oh, babe, I hate to go

“An interesting choice for this assignment.” Schue looks thoughtful. “I’m sure many of you can related to Quinn’s choice, especially now that we’re heading towards the spring.” His smile is a little forced, somehow, though Puck can’t figure out why. It’s not like Schue would realize Quinn’s response to the assignment was nothing but smoke and mirrors.

“I have my song ready, Mr. Schue!” Rachel stands up with a big smile, wrinkling her nose excitedly at Brad. “I’ll be doing ‘People’.”

“All right, Rachel. Sounds great.”

 _People – people who need people_  
Are the luckiest people in the world,  
We’re children, needing other children  
And yet letting our grown-up pride  
Hide all the need inside,  
Acting more like children  
Than children.

Puck has to admit that Rachel must’ve actually put thought into the assignment instead of just pulling out a Broadway standard, because her face looks a little pained at one point in the song, and there’s a little something extra to her performance. She’s always _technically_ flawless, but sometimes she doesn’t have the emotion behind it. She does today.

 _But first be a person_  
Who needs people.  
People who need people  
Are the luckiest people  
In the world!

“Stunning, Rachel.” Schue’s smile _still_ looks a little pained, and what the hell is that about? “I think we have time for one more before we take care of some business?”

“I’ll go.” Puck stands up and strides to the front of the room. He grabs his guitar—acoustic, today—and takes a deep breath. The problem with assignments like this, Puck figures, is that if he does them right, he probably exposes more than he intends. But there’s nothing else for it.

 _There’s no saving anything_  
Now we’re swallowing the shine of the sun  
There’s no saving anything  
How we swallow the sun

 _But I won’t be no runaway_  
Cause I won’t run  
No I won’t be no runaway  
What makes you think I’m enjoying being led to the flood?

 _We got another thing coming undone_  
And it’s taking us over  
We don’t bleed when we don’t fight  
Go ahead, go ahead

This _is_ his life. Things coming undone, floods, and above all, if they don’t fight, maybe they won’t bleed. Maybe.

 _Throw your arms in the air tonight_  
We don’t bleed when we don’t fight  
Go ahead, go ahead  
Lose our shirts in the fire tonight

_What makes you think I’m enjoying being led to the flood?  
We got another thing coming undone_

_But I won’t be no runaway_  
Cause I won’t run  
No I won’t be no runaway  
Cause I won’t run

He doesn’t look at anyone directly, because he doesn’t want most of them to actually see him. The few that he doesn’t mind, he wouldn’t be able to finish the song. Does he get a prize for taking the assignment seriously?

 _I’ll go braving everything_  
With you swallowing the shine of the sun  
I’ll go braving everything  
Through the shine of the sun

 _But I won’t be no runaway_  
Cause I won’t run  
No I won’t be no runaway  
Cause I won’t run

“That was… amazing, Puck,” Schue says quietly when Puck finishes. Puck just half–grimaces and takes his seat, still cradling his guitar. “We’ll do another three performances on Thursday, all right?” He waits for a couple of nods and then turns his attention back to Puck again. “What was the final amount raised Saturday night?”

Puck pulls the piece of paper out of his pocket, even though he probably could have remembered it without the cheat sheet. “Seven thousand, five hundred fifty-six. And eighty-five cents.”

Schue just looks dumbfounded for a moment. “Wow.”

“What does that mean?” Mercedes asks. “I mean, you said—” She cuts herself off. “How much do we have, total, and how much will hotels and stuff cost?”

“It gives us just over ten thousand total,” Puck supplies. “So we’ll have to see the details after we win Regionals and book our trip.” He grins.

“Right! Well, wow.” Schue shakes his head. “We have a small budget allocated for Nationals via Figgins and the school board, but maybe we won’t need it.”

“We should use it anyway,” Rachel says, beating Puck to it. “Otherwise you may have another group in a year or two who doesn’t get any funds allocated.” She grins. “We can put it towards our food budget, right?”

“Right, well, sure, that makes sense,” Schue concedes. “So.” Schue claps his hands together loudly and shoots a look at the jazz band, who collectively shrugs and leaves. Brad doesn’t, though, looking amused for about the first time Puck can remember. “Funny thing, guys.” He smiles, but it’s an even weirder smile, like he totally doesn’t mean it. “I stayed after school on Friday to finish up a few things, and I stopped by the auditorium when I heard some familiar music.”

Shit.

They all freeze, and for a minute Puck thinks that now they’ll look guilty, but if Schue was in the auditorium, that cat’s already out of the bag and _gone_. Another beat passes, and they exchange glances before all sort of glancing at Finn and then back at Schue.

“Anyone want to offer an explanation?” Schue continues, still with a fake smile—and that’s what it’s been, all morning, just fake—plastered on his face, his voice pleasant with an undercurrent of ice or steel or something else like that.

“Yeah,” Finn says, his voice steady. Finn looks almost defiant—a look Finn hasn’t worn regularly since about age eleven, when Carole finally broke him of it—and more than that, like he’s about to go into battle. “Yeah, I can offer an explanation.”

“I’m all ears,” Schue says, a little smugly.

“Somebody had to lead the glee club, Mr. Schue. You weren’t doing it. All these assignments, sure, they’re fun, but the other glee clubs have been rehearsing for months before their performances.” Finn clenches his fists by his side, but he doesn’t let up. “You let us go into Nationals last year without even having songs prepared. We had to write them ourselves the night before. We had to come up with the choreography ourselves.”

Schue recoils a little, but then his face hardens, the skin around his mouth and eyes tight, and Puck winces internally. This isn’t good. At all.

“And you know, you were perfectly willing to let me and Rachel take the blame for us not winning, and yeah, maybe what we did? Wasn’t the most professional thing ever,” Finn continues, and he pulls himself up to his full height. “But we’re _kids_ , and you sent us into that competition with _nothing_. Who’s the unprofessional one there?”

Schue squares his jaw and his cheeks puff out, and Puck suddenly remembers some show Hannah was watching on television over the summer, with these fish that get really big cheeks when they’re threatened or something. How ridiculous is that, that Schue is _threatened_ by them?

“Well, I wasn’t gonna let that happen to us this year, so you know what, yeah, we’ve been rehearsing. We’ve been picking our own set list and doing our own choreography and writing our own _songs_ , for god’s sake, and you keep having us running around doing these weekly assignments without even mentioning the performances we have coming up? I’m supposed to be the leader of this group, so guess what? I’m leading.”

With that, Finn crosses his arms across his chest with a little side shake of his head that looks for all the world like ‘bring it’.

Schue shakes his head slowly. “I’m really disappointed in all of you,” he begins. “I thought we were a team. If _all_ of you really felt this way, why wouldn’t you come to me? Tell me all of this?”

“We’ve tried,” Finn says, not backing down. “We’ve been feeding you set lists all year. We’re _good_ this year, and you haven’t even _noticed_.”

“I’m not hearing anything here, Finn, other than _you_ criticizing my teaching style. No, we don’t do things like the other clubs, but we’ve still won Sectionals three years running! We went to Nationals last year and placed twelfth. I’m just hearing some discontent on _your_ part, and you seem to have dragged the rest of the club into your delusions of leadership.”

“ _Excuse_ me?” Kurt’s voice is like ice, and Puck would cringe on Schue’s behalf if he wasn’t pretty pissed at Schue himself. “You have no teaching style when it comes to glee club. The students that leave four years of your Spanish classes can’t carry on a conversation with Juan who runs the laundromat or Lupita who owns La Parilla, so I’m not sure you can say you have an effective teaching style _at all_. We won Sectionals because we _worked our asses off_ and could sing and dance in our sleep. We’re doing the same for Regionals, because we want to win, but also because _it is fun to do well_. It isn’t fun to bite your nails before the performance hoping you remember the lyrics that you finished scribbling out at 12:30 am the night before!”

A soft noise ripples through the rest of the room, like everyone else can barely contain applause at Kurt’s speech. Puck thinks he hears Artie whisper “yes!” under his breath. Puck also shifts uncomfortably and suddenly understands exactly how Mike felt the year before when Tina make her speech about being the change or whatever.

“Kurt! That is enough! You are out of line!” Schue snaps, the expression on his face one that Puck’s only seen a few times before – directed at Coach Sylvester. For a minute, Puck is actually afraid for Kurt. “I am a teacher at this school and you are a student! You owe respect to your teachers, just like we respect you!”

“Do you?” Kurt fires back, and Puck shivers. “You respect me up until the moment that I remind you I’m gay. I’ve _seen_ the look on your face when I stand close to my brother, or Puck puts his arm around my shoulders, or I put a hand on Sam’s forearm. I’ll give you just as much respect as you give me, _Mr._ Schuester.”

“Now that is just not true!” Schue is snarling now, leaning forward, and it’s a good thing, Puck thinks, that Kurt is in the back row of chairs. “You need to stop seeing homophobia where it doesn’t exist! And that is beside the point! The important point is that you, all of you, are usurping my authority, with Finn at the front playing at directing!”

“Don’t you talk to him like that!” Finn shouts back at Schue. “What authority? You spend half the time acting like we’re your buddies and the other half acting like we’re some six year olds that need you to hold our hands! You don’t back us when we need you, but then you want us to trust you? Kurt’s right, he’s completely right, and we _all_ see it! You think I’m playing at directing? What the hell are _you_ playing at, then?”

“They’re both right,” Sam agrees suddenly, voice firm. “And Kurt’s not imagining anything. I’ve seen the looks you give him. Like you’re waiting on him to snap and start assaulting us or something.” He narrows his eyes. “It’s not okay.”

“No, it’s not.” Puck whips his head around to the other side and gives Santana a small smile. “Don’t think Brittany and I are oblivious, either,” Santana continues. “But that’s just _one_ problem we have. We saw a problem, we got together, we fixed it. As a team. Isn’t _that_ what you always want?”

Schue splutters for a moment, and Puck realizes then that Schue _genuinely_ believed what he was saying, that it must just be Finn forcing them all into something. Puck’s not sure if that’s better or worse, somehow. “What I _want_ is for you all to stop running off and having unauthorized practices! This is a school function! You can’t just have practices whenever you like!”

“Oh yeah?” Finn snaps. “Watch us, dude.”

“Are you going to handle all the things that come up? All the paperwork for Nationals, the reservations, everything that needs to be done the day of the competition?” Schue fires back, and it’s clear he’s long past rational.

“What reservations? The ones Puck already made for us?” Finn snorts. “And I’m pretty sure that the ‘paperwork’ from last year was code for you sneaking off to decide if you were leaving us for Broadway, so I think we can probably handle the real deal, just like we handled the song writing, the choreography, and all the fund-raising. But if you really want to help, you can pick up the sandwiches again like you did at Sectionals, because that was nice of you.” He turns to look back at the rest of the glee club. “Oh, and since I’m demonstrating my delusions of leadership or whatever, I’ll just go ahead and lead us in one of those storm outs.”

Without looking back, Finn stands up and marches towards the door, everyone else picking up bags and following close behind him. Puck hides a grin when he sees Sam deliberately step close to Kurt, flinging an arm over his shoulders, and Tina does the same with Brittany and Santana as they all exit. Puck brings up the rear, turning in the doorway to address Schue himself.

“I hear that there’s a community PFLAG group that meets over at OSU. Maybe you should go. Drop in on an education class while you’re there.” With that, Puck spins around and follows the rest of them down the hall.

 

Puck spends the afternoon after class restless. He considers telling Kurt to just take him along to the shop, then decides against it. After he’s been home for fifteen minutes, he considers walking down to the shop, but ditches that idea too. He fiddles with his guitars, half-heartedly does his math problem set for Wednesday, stares stupidly at pinkmonkey.com, and then decides that maybe he really should go for a run. The weekend was crazy busy and there definitely won’t be time the next day. Yeah, he and Kurt should do it while Hannah’s at dance class, but he definitely has other plans for that hour, so he changes into sweats and the cheap hat he had his mom buy at Wal-Mart when Kurt started looking alarmed and ranting about sweat on whatever kind of stuff the other hat is. It’s not like the mohawk kept his head any warmer, but at least he’s not being stupid about that anymore. Why did he let his head freeze so much?

The run helps a little. The shower doesn’t really, because the last shower he had was at Kurt’s, with Kurt, and then his mom and Hannah get home before he’s done in the shower, mainly because he started daydreaming instead of actually washing.

Bitchy, scornful, righteous Kurt is hot. As long as he’s never the recipient of that tone of voice. Puck’s pretty sure he couldn’t ever handle being on the receiving end.

“Well, that’s a sight for tired eyes.” Puck startles and looks up at the doorway from where he’s collapsed on his bed, jeans on and nothing else.

“Hey.” Puck grins. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you knock.”

“I didn’t,” Kurt explains ruefully. “Hannah had her eye glued to the peephole and dragged me inside before I could.” He crosses the room and lies down beside Puck. “But it worked out all right.” Kurt’s fingers run up Puck’s spine, and he exhales, letting his eyes close again. “Dad had to banish me from interacting with the customers today.”

Puck laughs. “What did you do, blue eyes?”

“I merely suggested that regular preventative maintenance would have saved the gentleman a considerable amount of time ‘stuck in this small cow town in the ridiculously flat state of Ohio!’”

“He didn’t take your suggestion too kindly, I take it.”

“No, strangest thing.” Kurt smiles against Puck’s shoulder. “Your mom said we’re having tuna noodle casserole. I admit, I didn’t realize that people actually made that. I thought it was, you know. Just something people _said_ that they made.”

Puck grins and turns onto his side, looking at Kurt and tracing a hand over Kurt’s cheek. “Yeah, well. And then there’s Rina Puckerman.” He leans forward and kisses Kurt slowly, lips firm against Kurt’s. He puts his arms around Kurt and rolls them over, holding himself up over Kurt just enough to move his head into a more comfortable position. Kurt’s body arches towards him, and Puck breaks the kiss, groaning, as Kurt’s erection brushes his. “Fuck.”

“I closed and locked your door, baby,” Kurt whispers. “Casserole wasn’t in the oven yet. You’ve got music playing.” Puck stops and looks down at Kurt, who’s got a little pleased grin on his lips. “So are you going to be a good boy, and stop, or are you going to be a _very_ good boy and get inside me already?”

It’s not really even a question, not at that point, and Puck hurriedly sheds his jeans before pulling off Kurt’s clothes as well. Kurt pulls him back down for another kiss, rubbing their cocks together. Puck fumbles for the lube, slicking his fingers and carefully pressing them inside Kurt. He moves them apart, then together, and finally twitches his fingertips in just the right way for Kurt to shudder and cry out. Puck adds a third finger, just for good measure, then coats his cock and slowly, slowly, nudges inside Kurt. He fixes his mouth over Kurt’s to swallow Kurt’s low cries, and when he’s finally fully inside Kurt, he darts his tongue into Kurt as well, kissing him thoroughly before pulling back and starting to move, at first slowly and then faster as Kurt urges him on.

There’s part of Puck that’s a little embarrassed at the thought of getting caught, that cringes every time he hears Hannah banging around and yelling in the living room, but it doesn’t seem to bother Kurt, secure in his knowledge of the locked bedroom door, and Kurt just tightens his hand on Puck’s biceps, leveraging his body up and into Puck’s as Puck drives forward.

Puck shifts his weight enough to free his right hand to wrap around Kurt’s cock, and he pumps it fast, hand tightening as Kurt whimpers a little. “Fuck, blue eyes,” he whispers. “Come for me, K.” He thrusts into Kurt a few more times, his hand moving furiously fast on Kurt, and then Kurt does come, body arching and a loud cry escaping despite both their best efforts. It’s that sound, though, that spurs Puck on, and he empties himself into Kurt two thrusts later, collapsing afterwards.

“Mmm, baby.” Kurt’s voice is a low murmur. “Perfect.”

“Always,” Puck responds, murmuring into Kurt’s neck.

“We’re skipping rehearsal in the morning.”

“Okay.”

“Can you let me in early?”

“Mmm, okay?” Puck shrugs. “I guess.”

“Rina and Hannah leave earlier than Carole and Dad,” Kurt states factually, and then there’s a knock at the door.

“Noah! Kurt! Mom says dinner’s almost ready!”

“Okay, squirt!” Puck calls back with a shake of his head. “Guess it’s time to get dressed.”

“I suppose so.”

Hannah spends dinner pumping Rina for information from her parent/teacher conference earlier in the afternoon. “But what did she say about language arts?”

“That clearly you have no trouble with speaking,” Rina says dryly, and Puck snorts.

“What _else_ , Mom?”

“You’re doing fine, Hannah. No, she didn’t mention your diorama from two weeks ago. I suspect she thinks that the 99% she gave you was enough of a statement.”

“I got a 99% and Stevie only got a 91%!” Hannah informs them. “Rebecca got a 97% which is almost as good as mine, but Stevie practically _failed_.”

Kurt and Puck both laugh at her declaration, and Rina actually gets up and goes into the kitchen, probably so Hannah won’t feel like they’re all laughing at her. Hannah just makes a face at all of them and continues talking, this time about the science fair project she’s thinking about doing for the science fair and how she has to have it finished by spring break.

“Puck, Kurt, would you two mind terribly taking Hannah to her dance class?” Rina asks as they clear the table, Hannah having run off to change her clothes. “The one thing her teacher did mention was needing to get her some kind of notebook for her assignments.” She shrugs sort of helplessly. “I thought I’d run over to KMart or Wal-Mart this evening and take care of it.”

“Sure, Mom,” Puck answers after a beat and a quick look at Kurt, who nods. “After that, we’re heading over to Kurt’s, though.”

“All right. More work for auditions?” Puck just nods. His mom’s not been _supportive_ , exactly, but she hasn’t been discouraging or angry, either, so he’ll take it.

 

The dance studio is more gaudy than Puck remembers, or maybe that’s just the costumes that a huge group of eleven and twelve year olds are trying on. “I don’t know,” he muses.

“What don’t you know?”

“Paying for piano lessons and dance lessons, and Mom being the only one here to take her.”

“Hmm.” Kurt shrugs. “What about the magnet school? I know what you said before, but if they have dance classes there, and maybe you could work something out with Brad before we leave, he could go there and teach her after school.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Puck makes a face. “I know she’d hate to leave Stevie and Rebecca.”

“Well, there’s an easy solution to _that_ ,” Kurt points out. “Talk to Sam, and have your mom talk to Rebecca’s mom.”

“Is it bad just to have her do dance through school?”

“Do you really want her joining that competition team?” Now it’s Kurt’s turn to make a face, and Puck laughs.

“Good point. No.”

“I know Dad and Carole are going to be busier next year than we expected,” Kurt says quietly, “but Liberty’s not far from our house. Carole will undoubtedly be at home for at least a few months, and Dad’s schedule is flexible. Maybe it would be better for that reason, baby. Your mom depends on you a lot, and Independence is farther away.”

“That’s true.” Puck nods. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll talk to Mom. If she doesn’t have to drive her for dance or piano, maybe she’ll sign her up for one of the other things Hannah wanted.” He reaches over and takes Kurt’s hand, because the only people in the waiting room now are said eleven and twelve year olds in gaudy costumes. One of them looks over and grins at them, then pokes at her friend. Puck’s pretty sure he hears them squeal about how _cuuute_ he and Kurt are, but he tries to block that part of the evening from his brain.

 

Puck’s phone vibrates with an incoming text just before 6:30 on Tuesday morning.

_Little pig little pig let me in!_

He stifles a laugh and pads out into the quiet living room to let Kurt in, relocking the door behind him and heading straight back to his bedroom. He closes and locks that door, too, before turning on the light. “Are you the big bad wolf?”

“Mmm, I might eat you up,” Kurt replies, smiling. He’s laden down with numerous bags, and he sets down some on the floor and some on Puck’s desk, carefully avoiding the computer. Kurt toes his shoes off and then picks one of the bags back up. “Breakfast?”

“How about you eat it up, then?” Puck counters with a laugh. They settle on the bed, spreading the food out between them. “So this is our valentine’s day celebration?”

“Pretty much,” Kurt agrees. “Missing a rehearsal is a pretty good celebration, I think.”

“True. Let’s just hope Finn doesn’t murder us before the day is over.”

“I think we’re safe, as long as we don’t look like Schue suddenly.”

“Good point.” Puck grins and shakes his head. “If we did, though, we’d really be in trouble!”

When they finish eating, Puck takes a good look at Kurt and blinks. “Did you really go out of the house in your pajamas?”

“It was 6 in the morning,” Kurt points out with a shrug. “And it was just Waffle House. It seemed like a waste of time to get dressed for just 45 minutes or so.”

“Plus if anyone saw you, they’d just think you had a doppelganger.”

“That too.” Kurt shrugs and walks back over to the bags on the floor. “So, um. I have two things for you.” He looks almost embarrassed, for some reason. “This is for you, to, you know. Read later.” He places an envelope on the desk and then pulls out a smallish plain package. “And this.”

“Hang on.” Puck leans over and reaches under his bed, pulling out his own small plain–looking gift. “Apparently we go to the same school of gift wrapping.”

“Somehow brightly colored bows and ribbons just didn’t seem quite right,” Kurt agrees.

“It’s not, like, much, but.” Puck shrugs and hands it to Kurt, who smiles and leans against Puck while he removes the wrapping paper, revealing a CD. “Some of it’s stuff I’ve written, some of it’s just me doing other people’s stuff.”

Kurt tilts his head and his smile gets wider. “I like it. I’m sure I’ll like it more after I actually listen to it, too.” He presses his lips to Puck’s softly, then a little more firmly, running his tongue over Puck’s lips before pulling away and depositing his package in Puck’s hands. “It’s not sentimental or anything.” There’s a hint of a blush on his cheeks that intrigues Puck.

“What is it, some kind of sex toy?” Puck teases, but Kurt’s blush just grows deeper. “Ohhh.” Puck grins. “That’s pretty hot, blue eyes.” Kurt just bites at his lower lip and nudges Puck to open it. Puck does, opening the box and looking at the contents, a little confused. “It— what is it?”

“It’s um.” Kurt’s cheeks are bright red. “You know.” He makes a strange gesture with his hands, and Puck has to sort of grin at the absurdity that Kurt can buy it and give it to him, but he trips on saying what it is. “Buttplug,” Kurt finally whispers.

“Oh.” Puck studies the unassuming piece of plastic for a second and then hands it to Kurt. “Show me?”

Kurt nods and gestures for Puck to take his clothes off. He hurries to comply, Kurt doing the same, and then Kurt’s on top of him, kissing him hard. Kurt’s hand slides down Puck’s chest, tugs on Puck’s cock for a moment, then plays with Puck’s balls, Kurt sliding them between his fingers. Then Kurt pulls his mouth away and sits up for a moment. “Turn over.” Puck complies with a nod, and then Kurt’s tongue swipes across his entrance.

“Oh, fuck,” Puck groans, and he hopes that maybe it’s later than he thinks it is, or that his mom took Hannah out for breakfast, because of Valentine’s Day or something, because he’s not going to be all that quiet. Kurt’s tongue darts in and out of him before it disappears and Puck whines.

“Patience, baby,” Kurt whispers, pushing his fingers inside Puck, his other hand stroking Puck’s back. “Oh, there we go,” he adds as his fingers brush against Puck’s prostate and Puck stiffens a little, crying out. Kurt’s fingers plunge in and out and Puck almost forgets what they’re doing until they disappear, too, and then there’s the unfamiliar feel of something not–flesh pressing into him. Puck exhales as Kurt slowly pushes it in, and then he stops and Puck guesses he’s got the thing all the way inside him and fuck, he feels like he’s on display or something.

“Oh, that’s beautiful,” Kurt says. “Turn back over, baby.” Kurt lies down next to him and kisses him again, this time a little slower but still firm. “How does it feel?”

“Full.” Puck moves a little experimentally. “Good. Not as good as your cock.”

“Yes, but now I can do other things with my cock,” Kurt says, grinning.

“Oh.” Puck returns the grin. “Yeah. That makes sense.”

“Doesn’t it?” Kurt trails his fingertips over Puck’s erection, and Puck has to fight the impulse to thrust forward. “What do you want, baby?”

Puck doesn’t answer, just moves around, the motion making him acutely aware of the plug’s presence, and then takes Kurt’s cock into his mouth. Fuck, yeah, Kurt has the best ideas. Something in his ass, rubbing against his prostate every time he shifts, and Kurt’s cock heavy in his mouth, tasting so good, and he moans around Kurt.

Kurt runs his hands over Puck’s scalp and down his neck, and when Puck looks up, Kurt’s eyes are closed, the red of his earlier blushes faded into a pink across his chest as well. “Oh, god, Puck,” Kurt groans out, his hips bucking upward into Puck’s mouth, and Puck stills his mouth, letting Kurt repeat the action. “Oh, fuck, baby, yes.”

Kurt takes over then, pushing his cock into Puck’s mouth, and Puck closes his eyes, listening to the sound of Kurt’s breathing and focusing on the feel of Kurt sliding across his lips. Kurt’s speed increases until finally he explodes into Puck, and Puck reaches down, tugs on himself twice, and comes as well, resting his cheek against Kurt’s inner thigh. After a minute, he reaches down and pulls the plug out of himself, letting it drop to the floor, then scoots back up so his head is next to Kurt’s.

“Well?”

Puck just grins and puts his mouth over Kurt’s, his tongue demanding access that Kurt grants quickly. “You have good ideas,” he says when they pull apart, and Kurt giggles.

“Glad you like them.” Kurt rests his forehead against Puck’s. “I have a feeling we should get up to go to school.”

“Probably.”

“I don’t really want to, though.”

“No.” Puck shakes his head and sighs. “I got the official permission from Ms. P to leave whenever I think I need to, or something like that. It’s what, an hour and a half?”

Kurt nods. “But maybe we should try to leave at 2, since it’s the first appointment and everything.”

“You have class until 2:30.”

“Which I already told my professor I was going to miss, because I had to see a specialist in Toledo. She just smiled and gave me the assignment for Thursday and suggested that I was already doing better than most of the class.”

Puck snorts. “You’re practically fluent, of course you are.”

“Still.” Kurt sighs and rolls over to look at Puck’s clock. “Oh, shit.”

“Later than you thought?”

“The bell rings in five minutes. I think we’re going to be tardy.”

“Fuck.” Puck rolls out of bed and walks over to his closet, while Kurt grabs another one of his bags and starts to get dressed. Since they’re already late, Puck sits down to pull on his boots and just watches Kurt get dressed. He obviously planned ahead; jeans, red Doc Marten boots, and a grey sweater with a fox on the left side in the front. Kurt picks up a red hat and places it on his head, pulling on his coat after that, then gathers up his bags.

“Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Puck shoulders his own backpack and grabs his coat on the way out the door. “Bell’s ringing now,” he points out as they climb into the Nav, and Kurt shrugs.

“At least it looks like we legitimately missed rehearsal.”

“Rachel’s going to kill us, too.”

Kurt laughs. “Probably.”

 

It’s eight minutes past the final bell when Puck finally slips into history. It’s also the first time all year, he’s pretty sure, that he’s showed up to first period without a cup of coffee in his hand. He mumbles a quick sorry to the teacher, who just smiles and waves him to his seat – Puck’s still not sure why she took such a liking to him, but he’s not going to dispute it.

He sits down in his usual seat next to Finn, ignoring the curious look on Sam’s face. Finn has some kind of mini–coughing fit, then leans over towards Puck and says, in an undertone, “Where were you? Everything ok with you two?”

Puck’s pretty sure that a smug smirk isn’t the best way to respond; on the other hand, it’d be interesting to see how far he could take the conversation. He props his head on his hand and turns his head to the side, grinning at Finn. “Peachy.”

Finn snorts quietly and rolls his eyes. “And suddenly I have no more questions,” he says, shaking his head a little. “The ‘where’ and the ‘what’ are officially answered.”

“Aww, you don’t want details?” Puck whispers, still grinning. “Such a pity, dude.”

“Not in the middle of class, _dude_ ,” Finn answers. “If you’ve got an undying need to talk about it, I’ll suffer through it _after_ history.”

“It’s technically history. Very recent history.”

Finn shoots Puck an incredulous look. “ _Dude_!” he hisses.

Sam turns around then, their teacher talking quietly to two of the kids in the front. “Watch out for Rachel,” he advises Puck. “I think she thinks we could be ambushed by surprise Regionals at any moment.”

Puck laughs under his breath. “Like a flash mob.”

“Mr. Evans, please turn towards the front of the room,” interrupts whatever Sam was going to say, and he shrugs, turning back towards the front and the Napoleonic Wars. Puck wonders why they couldn’t get rid of Napoleon the first time or two.

When the bell rings, Puck looks at Finn half–expectantly, wondering if Finn was serious about talking about it, because seriously, he sort of doubts it. To Puck’s surprise, Finn actually waits for him, smiling sort of gamely, though he breaks into one of his little melodramatic coughing fits first.

“You’ll keep us from getting killed by your girlfriend?”

“Yeah, well,” Finn shrugs. “I kinda wasn’t surprised you weren’t there. Ugly day yesterday, everybody kind of needed some recovery time. So, no death, or whatever.”

“Yeahhh, that wasn’t fun,” Puck agrees. “I think probably you know your life is worthless if Kurt ever uses that tone with you.”

“Yeah, scary Kurt is scary,” Finn shakes his head. “Schue deserved it, though. He can’t talk to Kurt like that. He can’t talk to _any_ of us like that!”

“Actually, the way things are set up? He’s got more protection as long as it _is_ about being gay.”

“Fuckers,” Finn mutters.

Puck shrugs. “Doubt Schue’s doing any of that regularly.”

“Ew,” Finn says, making a face. “I don’t know what we’re gonna do, man. I mean, if Schue decides to pull the club or something, I’m not sure if we can still go to New York. I have no idea how to fix this, but I’m not backing down or telling him he’s right when he’s not, not unless you guys all decide that’s what you want me to do. I’ll suck it up for the team’s sake and I’ll apologize or whatever, but I’m not doing it for _him_ ,” Finn finishes bitterly.

“It’s bigger than him, now, though,” Puck points out. “We have a line in the budget and everything. He could resign as sponsor or whatever, I guess, but we’d just have to get another faculty member to take over. Pretty sure Beiste would do it if no one else would.”

“It sucks that this is happening. I was hoping we’d make it through Regionals before he figured it out.”

“Let’s be honest, he might not have figured it out at all. I mean, he had to actually see us rehearsing to get a clue.” Puck purses his lips. “I guess we could be proactive and go to Figgins to make sure Schue can’t do anything to keep us from Regionals or Nationals.”

“That might not be a bad idea,” Finn sighs. “This sucks so much, dude.”

“It does,” Puck agrees. “In a bad way.”

“How would it suck in a good — you know, no. Don’t answer that, dude.”

“Hey, you _said_ ,” Puck laughs.

“Yeah, I know what I said.” Finn shakes his head. “And I know what you’re gonna say. No reason to keep on.”

“To each his own, right?” Puck grins.

Finn gives Puck an odd look and tilts his head to the side a little. “No, I think more like, to me my own, and to you guys, like, each other’s, or whatever.”

Puck laughs. “On that note, I’m going to go learn about magnetism.”

“Have fun with that, dude.”

“I will.” Puck grins again. “I have a really hot lab partner.”

Finn just rolls his eyes again as he heads off to his own class.

 

Kurt does insist on leaving after fourth period, but he shows back up by 1:45, toting food and a red umbrella. “It’s raining?”

“Yes, this heat wave of 38°F brought with it some rain.” Kurt shrugs. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

The drive is dreary and Puck can tell Kurt’s doing his best to distract him. They spend a fair amount of time sort of chatting with Finn via google doc on Kurt’s iPad, talking about Carole and Pretzel and all of that. It does manage to keep Puck’s mind off everything until they pull into the parking garage. He sighs heavily.

“Where do you want me?” Kurt asks softly. “There’s a mall nearby, or I can go over to Fresh Market, or I can stay in the waiting room.”

Puck sort of wants Kurt to go in _with_ him, after that last disaster, even though he knows this guy won’t be like that. And he remembers Kurt talking about some H–something store that this mall had. “Why don’t you hit the mall? I’m early, so you’d easily have an hour and still be back even if I got done right on time.”

“Okay.” Kurt leans over and kisses Puck firmly. “Good luck, baby.”

“Thanks,” Puck answers wryly, then climbs out of the Nav and heads towards the skywalk. The office is on the eighth floor, and by the time he pushes open the doors to the office suite, he’s gotten himself, well, anxious. He rolls his eyes at himself and signs in, accepting the clipboard of forms. It doesn’t take long to initial everything and then fill out the longer registration form. He pays the co-pay and smiles tightly at the receptionist, who seems like a perfectly lovely person, but her haircut reminds him of Quinn.

It doesn’t take long, unlike the douchebag in Lima, for them to call him back. “Noah, this is Dr. Venko. Dr. Venko, your four o’clock, Noah Puckerman.”

The man who comes around the desk looks, Puck thinks, like a skinnier, younger Santa Claus: longish white–grey hair pulled into a ponytail, a well–trimmed white goatee, and a broad smile on his face. He puts out a hand in greeting. “Mr. Puckerman! Puck, correct? All the way from Lima?”

“Yes, sir.” Puck shakes his hand, mentally already giving the guy a couple of points in his favor.

“No ‘sir’ necessary. It’s _Larry_ , unless you feel more comfortable calling me Dr. Venko. Some people do, either is fine, and it’s entirely up to you,” Dr. Venko says, indicating that Puck should come back into his office. “It’s important that this is all set up in such a way to make you feel at ease.”

“Well, you already got my name right,” Puck quips, smiling slightly as he takes a seat.

“It’s a good name. I’m sure you hear this all the time, but I’m a Shakespeare fan, and I’ll enjoy the opportunity to have a Puck in my office!” Dr. Venko laughs. “First, I wanted to talk to you a little bit about your options. I’m aware of what a long drive it is from Lima to my office, and there are other counselors within a closer radius, if that’s what you’re looking for. The number of psychiatrists is admittedly much lower, but most people find they’re able to get the help they need through talking to a licensed therapist.”

“I don’t really know about the differences,” Puck admits with a shrug. “But when I talked to Ms. Pillsbury—she’s the guidance counselor at school—she suggested a psychiatrist. But the only psychiatry practice in Lima, um. Not really a good fit.” He half–smiles, half–grimaces. “Apparently I wouldn’t have any mental health issues if I weren’t gay.”

Dr. Venko frowns. “Yes, I’m familiar with Dr. Nichols’ practice and her… methodology, let’s just call it. My professional experience and all the evidence available run rather directly contrary to her philosophies, and no, I wouldn’t imagine that would be a very good fit for you, Puck.”

“Yeah, so after I stormed out of her office—which was actually kind of satisfying, strangely—we went online and.” He shrugs, looking around.

“Why do you think your guidance counselor recommended psychiatry over other forms of therapy?” Dr. Venko asks.

“Maybe because of the prescription thing?” Puck shrugs. “Like I told her, my brain is like a checklist for that generalized anxiety disorder. Only, I thought everyone’s brain was like that.”

“Well, we all process stress in different ways,” Dr. Venko says, nodding, “some healthier for us than other. You might be surprised how many people are dealing with some degree of anxiety, but not everybody has the ability to realize that’s not how they _have_ to live. I’d like to talk with you a little bit about this checklist.” He smiles at Puck. “First, though, I want you to know that there’s nothing _wrong_ with seeking help, and there’s nothing about you _yourself_ that needs to change. What we’re going for here is to give you better ways to manage the anxiety; coping and growing, not changing because one way to be is somehow better than another way.”

Puck tilts his head, considering. “Yeah, okay.”

“Now, I noticed on your paperwork that you carry your own insurance on yourself and that you didn’t list a parent under your emergency contacts. Are you living on your own right now?”

“Nah, Mom’s just got too much on her plate, you know? Hannah—my sister—she’s only eight, and Mom’s job isn’t exactly understanding about missing too much work. I’ve known Carole since I was seven, so.”

“So you do have a support system in place, people you can rely on? That’s a good thing to have.”

“Yeah.” Puck stops and grins. “You might want to take notes, ’cause it’s a little complicated. My best friend, Finn, his mom’s Carole. And Carole’s married to Burt now, and Burt is Kurt’s dad.”

“It sounds like you’ve got yourself a _big_ support system there, then,” Dr. Venko says, smiling. “I’m glad to hear that. Sometimes when you’re going through therapy, it helps to just have someone waiting for you afterwards. The process can be tiring, upsetting; sometimes you might need to cry or be angry for a while, and having loved ones around who can provide you a safe space for that really goes a long way towards helping you move forward.”

“Kurt’s over at your mall. Some store, H–and–something, I don’t know. I mean, I don’t own my own car or anything.”

Dr. Venko nods. “Good. I’m glad you didn’t come all the way up here alone.” He picks up a tablet and a pen. “Let’s talk a little about that anxiety checklist you mentioned, and we’ll see if we can figure out the best way to proceed from here, shall we?”

After a lot of talking on Puck’s part, and more questions and notes on Dr. V’s part, Dr. Venko finally brings the appointment to a close, writing out two prescriptions and standing up. He hands them Puck and explains, “This one is for the BuSpar we talked about, but the other one is what I like to think of as a rescue med, for those occasions, hopefully very rare, where the anxiety is so overwhelming that it makes functioning difficult. As you start adjusting to the BuSpar and continue with talk therapy, severe panic attacks like you’ve experienced in the past should hopefully become a thing of the past, but in the interim, this prescription is for twelve of the lowest–dose Xanax. Use them if you need them, but if you find yourself needing them frequently, we’ll figure out other options.”

“Okay.” Puck nods and folds the prescriptions in half, putting them in his front pocket. “That makes sense.”

“Abbie will set up your appointment for next week. If you want to go ahead and schedule for the next few weeks out, that’ll be fine, too. Was Kurt coming into the office to meet you?”

“Yeah, probably,” Puck replies. “Especially after Dr. Nichols.”

“Would you feel comfortable if I asked him to come back and join us for a few minutes before you two head on your way?”

“Yeah, that’s cool.”

Dr. V opens the door and Puck can see Kurt sitting in one of the waiting room chairs, idly thumbing through a magazine. “Kurt? Would you mind coming in and sitting with us for a couple of minutes?” Dr. Venko asks.

“Of course,” Kurt answers, looking a little startled. He drops into the seat beside Puck and squeezes Puck’s hand? “Better?” he asks in an undertone while Dr. Venko is closing the door. Puck nods and manages a partial smile.

“Much,” he whispers back.

Dr. V goes through the introductions with Kurt and once they’re all settled back in their seats, says, “First of all, I’m glad that you accompanied Puck here today. That kind of support is exactly what someone dealing with anxiety needs. I was hoping, as we move forward, that you would be willing to occasionally sit in on part of our session, where we’re focusing on coping mechanisms, relaxation techniques, things of that nature. Puck says you’ve been very supportive and encouraging of some positive dietary changes and an increase in exercise, and I think you could be equally supportive with helping him work on the tools he’ll need to deal with anxiety as it arises.”

Kurt nods his acknowledgment, smirking at Puck for a second, and Puck shakes his head. “Yeah, yeah, I know, nagging, encouraging.”

Kurt grins and turns to Dr. Venko. “Of course.”

“Wonderful news!” Dr. Venko responds, and after a few more exchanges of pleasantries and some handshakes, he ushers them back out into the waiting room to make appointments with Abbie, the receptionist. It kind of sucks to give up Tuesdays for the next month, but the only other option is, well, actually, there isn’t any other option, because Kurt works Mondays, Puck himself works Wednesdays, and they have glee rehearsal after school on Thursdays and Fridays. He exchanges a glance with Kurt, who just shrugs. It sucks, big time, but at least they do have the long weekend coming up, and then the long weekend in New York.

“Dinner?”

“Yeah, what’s around?”

“Chipotle? It sort of fits with the nutrition theme, at least.”

Puck laughs. “Sounds good.”

He waits until they’re sitting down with their burritos to start talking. “So obviously, dude’s a lot better than that quack.”

“Obviously,” Kurt nods and smirks a little.

“But, you were right. I have a diagnosis and everything.” Puck shrugs. “And two prescriptions, and I think probably I’m like, a psychiatrist’s wet dream.”

Kurt laughs. “Should I be jealous?”

“Nah, you’re _my_ wet dream,” Puck responds, grinning. “But, yeah. He was big on the idea that I’m like, not broken or something. My brain just works a little different, and the idea is to like, teach it to work differently.”

“That makes sense.” Kurt takes a long sip of his drink. “So, the meds?”

“One’s a longer term thing, BuSpar. He wasn’t sure it was the best fit but I told him I wasn’t taking any of that shit with ‘sexual side effects’. So we’ll start with it, anyway. And then Xanax, like a rescue med? I guess sort of like an inhaler for anxiety.”

“So you’d use it for something like what happened at Sectionals?” Kurt makes a face.

“Yeah, I think so.” Puck nods and takes a big bite of his burrito. “So I guess we should go get them filled. He mentioned there was a Target near that mall you were at, or I guess we can wait until we get back to Lima.”

“Well, you’re going to have to transfer the prescription to somewhere else in New York in another few months,” Kurt points out. “So would you rather fill it up here or in Lima?”

“Since we’re going to be up here at least every couple of weeks, here should be fine.” Plus, it goes unspoken between them — if Puck doesn’t get his prescriptions, his doctor, or his therapy in Lima, then no one’s going to find out accidentally.

“All right. You need anything else at Target?”

“I’ve been meaning to pick up another iTunes card, I could do that there. You?”

“We could see if they have any of those books about eating while pregnant. We could use it covertly until Dad and Carole actually tell us, and then we can be all ‘Congratulations! Have a book! We’ll cook you things’.” Kurt pauses. “Or, really, Finn can buy the ingredients and do the salads and set the table and serve things, and you and I can cook the things.”

Puck laughs. “Find anything awesome at that store?”

“A few things. It was all so cheap, I felt vaguely uneasy.” Kurt snorts, clearly laughing at himself. “Excitingly, however, there’s one very near Marymount.”

“Uh-uh,” Puck shakes his head, laughing. “Cheap doesn’t change the size of the closet.”

“I know!” Kurt wails, then laughs too. “Come on, baby. Let’s go finish this trip.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Puck’s prescriptions turn out to be cheap, just eighteen dollars total, and they do find some kind of pregnancy cookbook and grab Puck’s iTunes card, so all in all, not a bad trip before they have to set back out on 75 southbound. Puck drives and Kurt quizzes him on musical theory terms, which is sort of lame but totally necessary, and they manage to get back earlier than Puck thought they might.

When they get to Kurt’s house, Finn’s bedroom light is on, but the rest of the lights upstairs are off, and the only light downstairs is from the television. Puck’s a little surprised when they walk in and it’s just Burt watching, but maybe Carole already went to bed. Tiny pretzels make women sleepy.

“Oh, hey guys,” Burt says, keeping his voice low. “How’d it go?”

“Much better,” Puck says, a little wryly. “Course, that wasn’t hard, but.”

“So, no repeat of last time? I don’t need to drive up to Toledo with my serious conversation stick in hand?”

Kurt shakes his head. “No, Dad,” he answers, amusement plain in his voice. “No sticks necessary, we promise.”

“Good,” Burt says. “Good darn thing.”

“We’ll be going up every Tuesday for the next month,” Kurt informs him. “Just so you know.”

“Ok. Let me know if you’re hurting for gas money. Oh, Puck, Carole wanted me to let you know to read all the, you know, interactions or warnings, if they prescribed you anything. Make sure they don’t mix with sunlight and cause explosions.”

“Luckily none of them involve vampires,” Puck grins. “But yeah, okay. Tell her thanks.”

“No problem. I’m glad it went well this time.”

“Thanks, Dad. Good night.”

“Night, Kurt. Puckerman.”

They stay in Kurt’s room, studying and discussing glee club stuff, for the most part, until it’s late and Puck needs to head home before he inadvertently falls asleep in Kurt’s bed again. Not that he’d mind, but he figures Burt would rather a week or two pass between times, at least. “Night, blue eyes.”

“Be good.”

Puck grins in the doorway. “I’m always good.”


	4. Banana Bread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carole has a surprise for Burt. Burt is very surprised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place the Saturday before Kurt takes out the trash.
> 
> OVERLY FLUFFY! <3

Carole hums to herself as she putters around the kitchen, mind spinning. Baking seemed like a good solution; if she’s gone a little overboard on the number of loaves of banana bread, well. They’ll freeze nicely.

“Burt?”

“Yeah, honey?” Burt calls from the living room, where he’s mounting a new sound system on the wall.

“Can you come get the fresh flour down for me?”

“Sure, just give me a minute to get this screw in.” The drill whirs again and after a few moments, Burt appears in the doorway. “Okay, where’s the flour?”

“Up there,” Carole points to the top shelf of one of the cabinets. Usually she’d just climb up and get it herself, but maybe she shouldn’t be doing that.

Burt looks at the four loaves of banana bread on the counter, then his eyes slide to the oven, where two more loaves are visible through the glass window. “Uh, are we having a banana bread party?”

“Oh, I’m going to freeze some,” Carole says dismissively. “We’ll have banana bread for weeks. Besides, the next time the glee club is over they’ll go through at least three loaves.”

“So it _is_ a banana bread party,” Burt chuckles, pulling out the step stool and climbing up to get the flour out of the cabinet.

“Did you get a chance to talk to Kurt last night, honey?” Carole asks as she mashes another banana.

“Yeah, I did,” Burt says, setting the flour down on the counter and then putting the step stool away. “It was… enlightening.”

“In what way?” Carole opens the new bag of flour and starts measuring it.

“Kurt said I could talk to you about it,” Burt says. “Just, you know, so you don’t think I’m breaking his confidence or anything. Puck’s going to see a psychiatrist for that thing you’ve mentioned before, the anxiety thing, only the first one he went to go see?” Burt grimaces.

“Did he go to the one whose office is at St. Rita’s?” Carole frowns, trying to remember the woman’s name.

“Yeah,” Burt nods. “Did _not_ go well. And by that, I mean, Kurt almost had to call you and get you to bail me out when I went over there and destroyed her office in a fit of rage for suggesting gays need to be, I dunno, deprogrammed or something.”

“Oh, no.” Carole puts down her spoon and sighs. “Oh, that’s awful. Poor Noah. Poor Kurt, too. What’s Noah going to do? There aren’t any other psychiatrists in town, as depressing as that is.”

“He and Kurt are driving out to Toledo to try some other guy. Kurt found him online, I think, supposed to be more gay–friendly.”

“Oh, well, that’s good. Still. Toledo!” Carole shakes her head. “It shouldn’t be necessary.”

“No, it shouldn’t be, but I think we’ve established how much the world needs to catch up to where we are,” Burt sighs.

“Yeah.” Carole nods and stirs the mixture in the bowl almost absently. “Burt?”

“Yeah, honey?” Burt smiles at Carole.

“Remember my crazy Mexican jag?”

“Uh… if I say yes, you’re not gonna cook more, are you?”

Carole laughs. “No, I don’t think I’ll be cooking any more Mexican anytime soon.” She makes a little face. Actually, Mexican sounds pretty awful, now.

“You ok, Carole? You’re looking a little green around the gills,” Burt says, putting his hand on Carole’s arm. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings about the Mexican thing.”

“No, no,” Carole assures him. “You didn’t.” She takes a deep breath. “It just – there may have been a reason for that, one I didn’t even realize.”

Burt looks at Carole strangely. “Other than the new website you found?”

Carole nods and looks around the kitchen helplessly. “And here I go again, obviously.” She sighs. “Burt, honey, I—”

Now Burt is looking at her with great concern. “You’re… what? Carole, is something wrong?”

“I’m pregnant,” she finishes softly.

Burt lets out a loud laugh. “Oh, god, I thought you were going to tell me you were sick or… wait. What?”

“I’m pregnant!” Carole repeats, louder.

“With… with a _baby_?” Burt asks, like he isn’t quite processing what he’s hearing.

“One would assume so, yes,” Carole answers, trying not to laugh at the poleaxed expression on Burt’s face.

“But _how_?”

Now Carole does laugh. “Oh, honey, I hope you know how!”

“I mean, aren’t we a little,” Burt looks around the kitchen wildly. “ _Old_? For a baby.”

“Apparently not,” Carole shrugs, a little gaily. “We’ve still got it!” She pumps her fist a little.

“Holy crap!” Burt says, suddenly grabbing Carole around the waist. “We’re having a _baby_!”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you for the past five minutes!”

Burt picks Carole up just slightly off the floor and spins her in a slow circle, before putting her back on her feet and looking all concerned. “Sorry, that was okay, right? You aren’t feeling sick? Are you feeling sick? You should sit down, I can finish the bread! Let me get you a drink of water!”

“I’m pregnant, not dying, you silly man.” Carole laughs. “I’ll let you know if I feel sick, okay?”

“Wait until Finn and Kurt hear!” Burt says, getting Carole a drink of water any way. “Oh, god, we’re gonna have a baby and _two_ college students.”

“Do you think we should tell them right away?” Carole asks, frowning a little. “It’s just…”

“Just what? Everything’s ok, right?” Burt sets the water in front of her.

“I would assume so,” Carole hastens to reassure him. “But I don’t have a clue about when I’m due or how far along or anything. I didn’t even suspect until a few days ago, Burt, and I didn’t take a test until this morning.”

“You should call your doctor on Monday,” Burt suggests. “We can decide after then what to tell them and when.” He smiles at Carole again and leans over to kiss her on her cheek, then on her other cheek, then on her lips. “A baby. Huh. This is gonna be something.”


	5. Just Go (3x19 bonus fic)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things fall apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: This chapter contains domestic/child abuse and references to self-harm.
> 
>  
> 
> Resources. Use them if you need them. [National Domestic Violence Hotline](http://www.thehotline.org/)/1−800−799−SAFE(7233) (US); [international DV resources](http://www.vaonline.org/dv.html); [Gay Men's Domestic Violence Project](http://gmdvp.org/); [The Trevor Project](http://www.thetrevorproject.org/)/1-866-488-7386 (for youth in crisis).

“You sure you don’t want to watch the bonus features?” Dave teases, before he even starts the movie. “We can go there first.”

“No! I have to see the movies first or it’ll spoil it!” Casey yelps, making some sort of distressed hand motion.

Dave laughs. “I know, Case.” Dave picks up the remote and navigates the menu. “Dad!” he calls. “We’re going to start without you.”

Paul comes running into the room, nearly sliding into the recliner, and Dave shakes his head. “Are you sure you weren’t a baseball player?”

“Positive, David.”

“I think he should have been,” Dave says to Casey. “Don’t you?”

Casey giggles. “Definitely.”

“Maybe after his mid-life crisis.” Dave shrugs and hits play.

“Oh, these movies are _so great_!” Casey breathes, curling his legs up underneath him on the couch.

“They’re David’s favorites,” Paul agrees, “and for good reason.”

“Shh!” Dave says, grinning.

“Sorry!” Casey curls up into an even tighter ball next to Dave.

There is mostly silence throughout the movie, though periodically Casey squeaks or gasps or bounces in place a little. By two-thirds of the way through the movie, Casey’s much closer to Dave than he was at the beginning of it, and Dave has to put some effort into focusing on the movie and _not_ Casey’s proximity.

When Gollum comes flying out of nowhere at Frodo, Casey jumps, and instead of landing where he started, ends up with his side pressed flush against Dave’s. Dave bites the inside of his cheek, hard, and if he didn’t think Case would notice, he’d even close his eyes and do some deep breathing or something. _Way inappropriate, David Alan Karofsky!_ he scolds himself. _Don’t think about his freckles or, or, anything else!_

Casey makes a little squeak when Frodo’s finger gets bitten off, and he grips Dave’s sleeve tightly with both hands, leaning even harder against Dave. Dave wonders if he could get away with a groan or something, claim it was because of the movie. Probably not.

By the end of the movie, Casey’s curled into a ball against Dave, eyes wide, and Dave has to bite back a little sigh of relief that the movie’s over, which hopefully means he can stop thinking about freckles. Also about how Casey’s voice sounds, since he can start conversing with him again.

When the credits start to roll, Casey uncurls and seems to realize he’s entangled himself in Dave’s shirt, because he quickly lets go and moves slightly away. “Sorry,” he murmurs. “I didn’t mean to mess up your shirt.”

“S’fine,” Dave reassures him quietly, resisting the impulse to scoff at the idea. It’s just an old McKinley P.E. shirt. “You want another piece of that pie before you go? I was thinking about it.”

“Oh, I do like pie!” Casey seems almost as excited about the pie as he was about the movie.

Dave grins and stands up. “You want any, Dad?” When Paul shakes his head, Dave’s grin grows wider. “Awesome, we can just split what’s left, Case.”

Casey’s eyes go wide. “That’s a lot of pie!”

“Hell, yeah.” Dave’s eyes widen. “Sorry, Dad.” He leads Casey back into the kitchen, cutting what’s left of the pie into two huge pieces, more like a quarter of the pie each. “Here you go,” he says cheerfully, putting a fork on the plate and sliding it across the counter to Casey.

“So much pie!”

Dave just grins and grabs his own fork, digging into the green concoction. The pie disappears quicker than Dave would like, and from the look on Casey’s face, sooner than Casey would like, too. Casey gets that grim, resigned look on his face.

“It’s getting kinda late,” he says, like he really wishes he were reading the clock wrong. “I probably need to go home.”

“All right.” Dave sighs. “I’ll go get my keys. You want to grab a pop to take with you?”

“Yes, okay,” Casey nods. “I’ll get you one, too.”

Dave climbs the stairs to his room extra–slowly; he know Casey doesn’t want to go home, and part of him figures every minute helps, or something like that. Still, it’d probably be worse for Case if he got home too late, or spent the night elsewhere, so he heads back down the stairs once he’s grabbed his keys and wallet.

“Found ‘em,” Dave announces, taking the offered pop from Casey. “You ready, then?”

The corners of Casey’s eyes crinkle and he frowns slightly. “Um. Yes?”

“It is cold out,” Dave states, as if that’s Casey’s only objection, and they head out to Dave’s truck, the heater running full blast. “Oh, hey, do you mind if I come in and get the next Sandman?”

“Uh, I can go in and bring them out to you, if you want,” Casey offers.

“Nah, you don’t need to come back out into the cold, Case.”

“You know the cold doesn’t bother me too much, David, I really don’t mind.”

“It’s no big deal,” Dave insists. “I’ve already dragged you out in the cold enough today.” He pulls up in front of Casey’s house and turns off the truck, climbing out.

“I’ll, um. Just let me pop my head in first,” Casey says, hurrying up to his front door ahead of Dave. He opens the the door and slips half of his body inside, and Dave can hear him softly call out, “Dad?” Casey steps back outside. “He might be asleep, so, um. We’ll just go back to my room and I’ll get you the book?”

“Yeah, sure,” Dave nods, and takes his cue from Casey, walking quietly into the house. Casey reminds him a little bit of a wild animal for a minute, scared and shaky, and Dave frowns. Casey leads him along the side of the living room and down a short hallway. He opens a door into a tiny room, and Dave’s frown grows deeper as he takes in the sparse furniture, all of it looking like it’s seen better days. Considering the nice leather recliner in the living room, it doesn’t make a lot of sense.

“I’ll, um, get you the next one. Oh, and you should read the Death books, too,” Casey says, squeezing into the small space between the twin-sized bed and the bookshelf. Though the bookshelf itself has a broken shelf propped up with what looks like a brick, the books are in there neatly, and possibly in alphabetical order, a few sketches carefully taped down one side of the shelf. Casey runs his fingertip along the book spines on the bottom shelf, stopping at a slim volume and pulling it out, along with two more books just slightly down the row. “Here, volume nine and the Death stories,” he says, popping back up and holding the books out to Dave.

“Cool, thanks.” Dave smiles. “I can’t believe they’re almost over!”

“I also have the book that came out a few years ago,” Casey says. “It’s kind of an epilogue, only not really. It’s maybe more like back stories or between stories, I guess?” He seems to suddenly notice that they’re both standing in his bedroom, because he gives a rapid look around the room and then back at David, chewing on his bottom lip a little as he does so. “You probably should, um. Home, probably?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure you’ve got some homework to do,” Dave nods. “I’ll just let myself out if you want.”

“No!” Casey says quickly. “I, just. No, I’ll walk you out.”

“Okay.” Dave nods, then steps back a little for Casey to lead the way.

As they pass back into the living room, Mick jerks up into a sitting position, but doesn’t look over at them. “Casey? What’re you doing?”

“Um. David, um, he came in to borrow a book. I’m, I’m just letting him out,” Casey says, freezing in place, his voice getting higher as he talks. His eyes dart over to Dave’s, and Dave can see utter terror in Casey’s eyes. It’s that look that makes Dave feel cold suddenly.

“You tryin’ to teach that boy how to be a pansy?” Mick slurs. “God knows I fucked up with you, Casey, such a fuckin’ disgrace. C’mere.”

“Dad, I’m just gonna let David out first, okay?” Casey starts to edge towards the door. “Just let me say goodbye to David first and then I’ll come right over there.” He puts his hand on the doorknob, his eyes still locked on Dave’s. Casey’s breathing is rapid and shallow, and he’s visibly trembling.

“I said to c’mere!” Mick bellows, and even Dave jumps. He slowly puts his hand in his pocket, flipping his phone to silent.

“David.” Casey looks at him, eyes big. “Just go, okay? Please?”

“Case,” Dave says, voice pitched low. He jerks his head towards the door, silently pleading with Casey.

“David,” Casey whispers. “Please. Go.” He takes a shuddering breath and steps away from the door, creating a clear path for Dave.

“You too,” Dave hisses, looking back at Mick, who seems temporarily distracted by the drink in his hand and whatever he’s watching on TV.

“I can’t. I can’t.” There’s barely even any sound, just Casey mouthing the shape of the words. “Please. David.” He takes another step towards Mick, his eyes wet, shaking his head slightly with his words.

Dave squeezes his own eyes shut, shaking his head in denial, but he steps towards the door. “Case,” he mouths, one final time, not knowing what else to do.

“Just go. I’m sorry,” Casey mouths back, turning towards Mick and taking another deliberate step in his direction, his body seeming to fold in on itself, making him seem even tinier than normal.

Dave shakes his head and steps out the door, closing it quietly behind him. _Fuck._

Dave can hear the rough shout, the slamming glass, the sound of knuckles connecting with a   
small body, and the worst sound, a tiny cry that doesn’t even seem loud enough to match with the noise of the impact. Dave’s hands clench into tight fists against his will, and he stumbles down the stairs to his truck, leaning against the door without moving. He finally climbs in and starts the engine, driving aimlessly through Lima and the surrounding streets. When he gets home, he sits in the dark living room alone until the middle of the night, when Paul comes downstairs and asks what happened. Dave doesn’t answer him, can’t make the words come out of his mouth, and he leans over and buries his face in his dad’s pajama shirt like he did when he was little and had a nightmare. The tears start to leak out and he can’t hold them back, and it’s to his dad’s credit that he doesn’t ask, doesn’t shush him, and doesn’t try to pretend it will all be okay.

 

Dave doesn’t notice until after second period that people are scattering out of his way when he walks down the hall on the morning of Valentine’s Day. He snorts. Valentine’s Day; what a joke. He’s not trying to scare people, but he’s frowning and worried and he hasn’t managed to find Casey today, and he’s not responded to any of Dave’s texts, either.

Dave rounds the corner towards his third period class and his eyes widen when he sees Casey hurrying out of the boys’ bathroom. It’s nowhere near Casey’s next class, but he darts forward and catches Casey by the left elbow.

Casey lets out a low yelp, jerking his arm away and spinning on the spot, eyes wide and scared. He puts his right hand to the elbow where Dave grabbed him, and stares at Dave, looking like he’s about to bolt down the hall. “Case,” Dave says, relief in his voice even as he’s cringing at the way Casey looks and sounds.

“I need to go to class,” Casey mutters, backing away from Dave. “I have to go.”

“You have English now, you can miss that,” Dave insists. “Case, please.”

“David, I’m sorry,” Casey says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m just so sorry.” He takes another step backward.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for!” Dave blurts out. “Case. Casey. Please. Come on.”

“Oh, David,” Casey shakes his head. “David, don’t. Okay, don’t. It’s… you don’t need this, okay? It’s just too…” He presses his lips together, hard, like he’s in an active struggle against whatever words are trying to come out of his mouth. “I’m just…”

“You’re just my best friend,” Dave finishes the sentence quietly. “Please, Case. I’ll tell your English teacher that I made you skip. Whatever it takes.”

Casey shakes his head sadly, but say, “Okay, David. If that’s what you want. Don’t be upset, okay?”

“C’mon,” Dave urges, his hand reaching out but afraid to touch Casey, not knowing where he’s hurt. Casey moves towards Dave a little, but seems equally afraid to let Dave close enough to touch him.

“Case,” Dave whispers again, the hallway emptying. “Let’s go.”

Casey nods, and Dave heads slowly down the hall, carefully bypassing both his own classroom and Casey’s, finally leading him towards the choir room, because Santana’s mentioned how it’s usually deserted, unless it’s fourth period or right after lunch. Casey follows Dave, keeping an arm’s length of distance, and Dave sits down on the front row, angling the chair to the side as he does so, waiting for Casey to sit down as well.

Casey stands there for a long moment, like he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do. “Sit down, Case,” Dave finally says gently, and Casey sits, almost automatically.

Before Dave can say anything else, Casey says, “I’m no good for you. I’m not a very good person for you to be friends with.” He doesn’t look at Dave while he’s talking, just picks at the frayed edge of his sleeve.

Dave shakes his head, and he has to take a deep breath, because in that moment, he’d do anything to change the way Casey looks, even if Casey wouldn’t want the things he’d do. “Don’t say that,” he whispers harshly. “It’s not true. It’s not true at all.”

“It _is_ ,” Casey answers, with a fierceness that seems to surprise even him. “Yesterday, it was awful, you shouldn’t have been there, I shouldn’t have brought you in, I mean, I _know_ better, and I did it anyway, and…” He talks until he runs out of breath and then inhales raggedly.

“ _You_ shouldn’t have to deal with it,” Dave counters, equally fierce. “It’s not right, Case, and I shouldn’t have left you, but I was afraid of making it worse, and I’m _sorry_ , I don’t know what to do but it’s not right, ba— it’s not right,” he finishes abruptly, because whatever else is going on, he doesn’t need to go adding cute nicknames like ‘babe’ into the mix.

“That’s just how it is,” Casey says, with a shrug, like it’s all the explanation he can give, or all he thinks is needed. “It’s just how things are, David.”

“Then they shouldn’t be that way.” Dave shakes his head. “Look, we’ll, I don’t know, you could talk to Ms. Pillsbury, or something.”

“David.” Casey looks at Dave with such a sad expression on his face. “What do you think will happen if I tell Ms. Pillsbury? She’s very nice, but… you’ve _met_ him, David.”

“I’m not saying she should talk to him,” Dave sighs. “But maybe she knows, I don’t know. I don’t know what to do, Case.”

“You can’t do anything,” Casey says. “There’s not anything to do. I just have to try harder not to make him mad, is all. It’s not… it isn’t bad like this all the time. It’s just harder right now, because his hours have cut back and he’s home a lot, and things are, you know, a lot tighter.”

“It shouldn’t be bad any of the time!” Dave asserts. “Please, Case, just talk to her, or to another teacher, something. I’ll go with you if you want or I’ll butt out, but.”

“David, _no_ ,” Casey says. “I’m not talking to a teacher or anybody. I don’t want them to know. I don’t want _you_ to know and I’m sorry that I told you anything, or that you saw anything, but I can’t tell anybody else.”

“Case. Casey. No.” Dave shakes his head. “You can’t do this for another two and a half years!”

“Yes, I can!” Casey insists. “I just have to try harder. I have to do a better job! And I can’t go around letting people know about _our_ business.” He snatches up his bag and almost leaps onto his feet. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let you come in last night. I’m just so, so sorry.” He hurries to the door and pauses with his hand on the knob. “Maybe it’s better if I just…” he sighs. “I should just stay out from under your feet, David. All I do is make you upset.” Before Dave has a chance to react, Casey opens the door and slips out of the choir room.


End file.
